MGS: The Compilation
by espresso de gecko
Summary: **COMPLETE** It takes place shortly after the conclusion of MGS2!! (Preceeds 'The American') ENJOY!!
1. The Situation

1 Metal Gear Solid: The Compilation  
  
2 PART ONE: PEOPLE'S WILL  
  
…By espresso d gecko  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter One: The Situation  
  
  
  
The starry night sky served as a backdrop for the white, snow-caped mountains as a black shape formed in the glow of the moon. A circle of dark wind swung like a halo above it and it hovered quietly and steadily through the air, and through the cravasses of the Rockies that surrounded it. A voice called through the night.  
  
"They call themselves Philosophy. Their leader is a man by the name of Socrates."  
  
"I thought he died a few hundred years ago," a deep, scratchy tone replied.  
  
"No, not THE Socrates. It's just what he calls himself."  
  
The halo became more solid and the figure sped. Something opened in its side and as the moon light whipped over the object, it revealed a scruffy face and a stalky body in the doorway of a fairly small helicopter. He peered quickly into the vast nothingness and then turned back to a seat. He put his hand to his ear. "Hmm...it sounds familiar."  
  
"It should. From the Big Bang a few months back."  
  
"That's right. Terrorists set off an explosion on the Three-Mile Island."  
  
"Yea. And it didn't just take out the plant. A big chunk of Pennsylvania was wiped off the maps with it."  
  
"My memory is a little fuzzy. How'd they connect him to the explosion?"  
  
"The government led a huge investigation following the attack. Apparently, Socrates had visited the plant the day prior to the explosion and phone calls were traced to some of the aliases the terrorists used. When they went to his home to arrest him, they caught him in the middle of a conversation with two fugitives of the Big Bang. That basically confirmed their suspicions and they took him down right on the spot."  
  
"What about the other two terrorists?"  
  
"One of 'em got a bullet in the forehead, the other got one in the thigh. He limped to cover, though, somehow eluding the cops."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
The man in the helicopter stood again, walking to the doorway. He leaned against the wall, trying to make sense of the land around him, but it wasn't familiar.  
  
"So, wondering where you're headed?" The voice echoed through his ear.  
  
"Yea, actually."  
  
"Heh. About four hours ago, a government morgue was breached and two bodies were stolen from the freezers. Just after the abduction, Philosophy contacted the Pentagon and claimed they had taken control of Hell's Outpost."  
  
"Hell's Oupost? Sounds cozy."  
  
"That's where you're headed right now. Its located in the Rockies."  
  
"Maybe not so cozy. What is it the terrorists want?"  
  
"They're demanding 15 million dollars for the return of one of the bodies. An additional 30 million for the second."  
  
"What good is a frozen corpse?"  
  
"One of them has been IDed as Socrates, and the other...well, the government denies its existence, but its clear that Philosophy has two bodies. They've repeated it to U.S. officials more than a dozen times."  
  
"I wonder why the government would deny that they had two bodies..."  
  
"Well, since the Patriots remain mysteries, we can expect more unusual behavior from the government."  
  
"You never answered my question."  
  
"What?"  
  
"What good is a frozen corpse? Even if it is Socrates. You can't do anything with a dead body."  
  
"Do you know what Socrates was famous for?"  
  
"I dont watch the news much."  
  
"Well, I guess the Patriots' doings give you good reason. Anyway, Socrates was credited for his scientific theories and his philosophies. His most famous quote was 'Where there is neither life nor death, there is nothing.'"  
  
"Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out."  
  
"He used science to try and prove his philosophies and theories such as the one in this quote. But, the only way he could do that, was to build life and death into actual things."  
  
"We've got guns and medicine for that."  
  
"No. Guns only bring death, and medicine only purifies life. What he wanted was something you could touch that was the real manifestation of life or death. So, he created a theory."  
  
"Theory? So, it wasn't proven?"  
  
"Right, but he came very close to finishing his research. He created a theory that stated when both the Hell Cell -- the manifestation of death -- and the Perfect Cell -- manifestation of life -- were fuzed, the outcome would bring nothingness."  
  
"..."  
  
"Basically, when they were combined, they would cancel each other out, and there would be nothing in their place."  
  
"That's pretty simple, but what's so terrible about that?"  
  
"When they cancel each other out, they bring forth a giant explosion that can decimate all matter it touches. That is what is so terrible about that."  
  
"So, with this...Perefect Cell...Philosophy could resurrect their leader."  
  
"Precisely. And he could make his theory, fact."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"Now, dont refer to our agency as...well, what we used to call it. Just refer to it as CODE."  
  
"Understood."  
  
"You should be coming up on Hell's Outpost very soon. As soon as you drop, contact me using Codec."  
  
"All right. Wish me good luck, eh, Otacon?"  
  
"That's what those cigarettes of yours are for."  
  
"Heh."  
  
"Talk to you again soon...Snake." 


	2. As Silent as the Night

Chapter Two: As Silent as the Night  
  
  
  
Snake checked his inventory, touching across his chest, along his belt, feeling for everything he had on him, as it was to dark to simply look.  
  
"Hmm.Dead Drop Equipment.Night Vision Goggles.Wha?! That's it? Otacon is getting cheap on me."  
  
He slid his hand down his back, trying to familiarize himself with the Dead Drop pack. Dead Drop was the term used for this particular type of deployment. It didn't require any parachute equipment or other large devices, but needed only one thing - the Dead Drop pack, which determined the force at which he fell, his own weight, and other various measurements. Installed in the pack was the latest form of the Z Force, a tiny machine that defied the laws of gravity by allowing a person to move in varied directions without having another force act upon them. In other words, they could almost fly using the final model of the Z Force, but it would be years before it was available to the public.  
  
Snake found his belt line again and snatched his Night Vision Goggles from the hoop on his right hip. Quickly, he adjusted them to fit snugly around his head and he dropped them over his eyes. He pushed a switch on the arm of the goggles and the area before him glowed with a radiant, green aura.  
  
Over the peaks surrounding him, he saw a small valley, cozied into the mountainous land. Sitting against a wall of rock was a giant facility. It looked to be made of concrete and a few abandon warehouses-full of glass. Small lights were planted around the perimeter of the facility and when Snake looked sharper through the goggles, he saw small heat sources, pacing around the facility.  
  
"Hmm. Troops.that must be Hell's Outpost."  
  
Snake adjusted the settings on his NVG's (Night Vision Goggles) and aimed down at Hell's Outpost. Then, he found a small red button on the top of the goggles. He pressed it down and from that point on, even as he moved his goggles, he saw only from the view of that one still moment.  
  
Then, in a swift, unexpected movement Snake was gone. He was no longer standing safely within the stomach of the helicopter, but had left his safe haven and had, in one moment, jumped into another world.a world of instinct.a world of war.  
  
The wind shaped his face like clay, his arms stressing to stay somewhat straight. The feeling was something he had felt very few times before. Dead dropping had rarely been his deployment method while heading into a mission and the sensation in his stomach made him want to land the moment he had left the helicopter. And, to his surprise, he did land rather quickly, but with a less than comfortable impact.  
  
Just feet above the ground, his Dead Drop pack sprung on, and he felt a jolt in his chest, trying to pull him upward. Unfortunately, the force of the pack was not great enough to soften his landing as much as he had hoped, but as his feet met the ground he was relieved.  
  
His legs caved beneath his weight and he stumbled onto the ground, rolling a few feet before coming to a complete stop. "Damn." His pack was heating up, and it was evident that if he were to leave it in place, he would be rather upset in a matter of minutes when it burnt through his suit and fried his skin.  
  
Quickly, he pushed himself onto his feet, reached around his back, grabbing hold of the pack, and flung it a few feet away. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees and waited a few seconds before straightening his back and further examining his surroundings.  
  
He took notice to the image in his NVG's, which were still looking from the location he had been before jumping. Two heat sources had heard or seen him and were cautiously crossing the snow-covered ground to where he lay: behind a wall of stone.  
  
"A welcoming party.hmm." Snake uttered to himself as he tried to think of some way to elude them. He switched his NVG's back to their normal setting and waited for them to reanalyze the footage. After a few seconds delay, he could see exactly what was in front of him.  
  
Quickly, he put his back against the wall of rock that separated him from the facility and the two guards who were steadily coming his way. The wall was almost ten feet high. He took a moment to think, and looked around him. There was snow.snow.and some more snow, but other than that.wait! On his far right, across the open plateau, was an abandoned snow mobile, sitting by a cave entrance. "Hmm.that could be useful.but it wont help me now."  
  
He waited, expecting the guards to turn around the wall of rock in only moments, but after almost a minute, not even the flashlights that were most likely mounted to their weapons were shining anywhere near him. There were no voices. No quiet orders. There was nothing.  
  
Slowly, he walked to the side of the wall with intentions of looking around, but just before stepping out he heard the crunch of icy snow beneath the boot of a soldier. Quickly, he darted back from the corner of the wall and flipped up his NVG's, letting them rest on the top of his head. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness as he watched two rays of light run across the ground.  
  
A quiet voice emanated from around the corner, "Stop.!" It was lower than a whisper, something the soldier had surely only intended his comrade to hear, but that was not the case.  
  
Then, in a swift move, both soldiers turned the corner, holding their guns to their shoulders and their sights ahead of them. "Freeze!" They yelled, but as they looked around, they saw nothing but snow. Through the Thermal's that they wore, they saw a world of dim red light. Nothing more. Nothing less. Both of them lowered their guns in disappointment and one pulled a radio from a case on his belt.  
  
"Nevermind. It was nothing," the one said and they both turned back to Hell's Outpost, only barely missing the Dead Drop pack that lay at their feet. Then, a dark figure slid down the wall of rock and fell into a kneeling position. He put his hand to his ear and waited for the voice of Otacon to enter his head.  
  
"Snake?"  
  
"Yea," Snake replied.  
  
"How was the Dead Drop?"  
  
"I would have preferred a parachute, but I lived."  
  
"You didn't break any bones?"  
  
"You say it like I was supposed to."  
  
"Well, that equipment wasn't really tested extensively in the labs." Otacon's voice trailed off into the still night.  
  
"Is it ever?"  
  
"Snake, how about we get onto the mission?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"I contacted a man named Raymond Dues at the Pentagon and managed to get some information regarding Hell's Outpost."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Well, the way he said it, it sounded like Hell's Outpost came from Socrates' money."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Well, after Socrates left college, he joined up with many different groups, working on side projects to get the money he needed to support his own research. Once he got enough money, he hired an architect to help design facilities where he could go about his work. Those plans gave Hell's Outpost life, but before the construction was completed, Socrates was killed for his involvement in the Big Bang."  
  
"Why would he want to build them out in the middle of a mountain range?"  
  
"I'm not too sure, but I'll keep at it. In the meantime, get yourself inside Hell's Outpost."  
  
"All right."  
  
"And Snake?"  
  
"Yea, Otacon?"  
  
"Don't cut it so close next time. 'You only live twice.'"  
  
"Heh. You were watching?"  
  
"Remember who you're talking to, Snake! I wouldn't just leave this whole thing in your hands."  
  
"Of course not." Snake ended the transmission and strained his sore legs to stand. They quivered for a moment and then he snuck off toward the snowmobile, abandoned by the cave entrance on the other side of the plateau.  
  
His pace was quick, his feet touching the ground only long enough for them to push back off again. Snow was not like carpet. It did not muffle his footsteps, but instead it shattered like glass beneath him. He could not afford giving up his location. Stealth was the game, and to fit in he would nee to be silent: as silent as the night. 


	3. Where the Spotlight Dares Not Shine

Chapter Three: Where the Spotlight Dares Not Shine  
  
  
  
The large spotlights that searched in the shadows of the plateau did not reach, nor did they try to reach, where Snake ran. At his age, one less problem was something to cheer about, but in his current situation, cheering wasn't necessarily the appropriate reaction.  
  
His legs jumped wildly, leaving no more than 1 inch imprints in the snow. As he ran, the snowmobile that sat in the thick, icy, snow came closer and closer until it was less than two feet away. But, just as he reached it, he heard a sneeze from the cave near by and he dropped onto his stomach behind the mobile as a soldier stepped out of the cave.  
  
He wore a somewhat odd uniform. It's camouflage was not platoon, nor solid white as the surroundings would imply, but instead - gray with splotches of black, white, and occasional splashes of green and brown. It was hideous in all honesty, and it in no way suited the environment. Odd.  
  
The soldier walked, in no unordinary fashion, over to the snowmobile. He stopped before he had quite sat down upon it and yawned, letting his eyes wander up to the black sky. There, off in the distance, he saw something that looked oddly like a Cypher. Snake peeked up at him, and saw the confusion in his eyes, tracing them to the Cypher that buzzed off in the distance. As the soldier reached for his radio, Snake jumped up, surprising him, and grappled around his neck. He pulled the soldier over the seat of the snowmobile and closed his eyes as he heard a pop. Then, the soldier's body slumped to the ground. Snake opened his eyes and put his hand to his ear.  
  
Snake switched the channel to 141.12, and waited. Suddenly, Otacon's nervous voice emerged in the depths of Snake's ear.  
  
"Yea, Snake?" Otacon questioned. The thought that Snake had contacted him less than two minutes after the two had conversed before was slightly unsettling.  
  
"Did I just see what I thought I saw?"  
  
"No doubt about it, Snake. That was definitely a Cypher."  
  
"How?"  
  
"I don't understand it either. It can't be another trap like the tanker mission. Philosophy has no ties with the Patriots."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
Otacon gave a small whimper. "Well, we cannot confirm that, but its obvious. The government has released specific details about the situation to the public all ready. They can't fool the people into believing you started it all if the whole world all ready knows the truth."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"Listen, Snake. Find a weapon ASAP. You can't go wondering through Hell's Outpost and expect to stop the threat without a weapon."  
  
"I can't get anything from these soldiers. Internal gun ID systems are installed into almost all military weapons nowadays."  
  
"Actually, Snake, their weapons probably don't have the ID systems installed. Philosophy isn't a military force by any means. Their men come from all nations and ethnic groups. I doubt they have first-rate weapons equipped."  
  
"Hmm.I'll take a look around. Try and figure out what the hell that Cypher is doing out here."  
  
"I'll do my best. Keep yourself hidden. Remember, the spotlight is your enemy. The shadows - your friends."  
  
"My only friends."  
  
Snake ended the transmission and reached down for the soldier's radio. Snatching it up in his hand, he broke away some snow and set the black box into the hole. Then, he covered it again, and stood. He scanned the body of the snowmobile and noticed a few side-seat compartments. He flipped up their tops and reached inside.  
  
From one of the compartments, he pulled a few rubber bands, a pen, and a dirty magazine. Snake looked at the cover of the magazine, but gave a low grunt and jammed it back inside. Then, he reached into the next compartment, beneath the seat of the snowmobile. As soon as he put his hand inside, he knew what he had touched: a SOCOM pistol. Anxiously, he drew it from the compartment and held it steadily in his hand. He surveyed it, running his other hand over the grooves, and smiled when he held it out ahead of him.  
  
"Hmm.It's got a laser sight.but no ammo." Snake frowned at the realization of its empty magazine, and slipped the gun into a holster on his left hip. At that, he stood and just as he did, a loud whirling began to echo in his ears. The snow began to fall more rapidly now and as it did, the spotlights mounted on the roof of Hell's Outpost turned toward him. Snake jumped into the snow and rolled onto his back as the whirling became increasingly louder.  
  
Then, with a burst of sound, three helicopters hovered over the plateau and came into Snake's field of vision. Lights were placed all over the hull of two of the helicopters. It was obvious that they were no enemies of Philosophy. The spotlights quickly scanned the bodies of the helicopters and as they did, Snake looked up at them, trying to make sense of the insignias.  
  
Two of them wore the identifications of Philosophy while the third, which flew between the others, bore the U.S. seal. The spotlight rested on the middle helicopter as the three of them hovered over Hell's Outpost, circling the facilities before slowly coming to the snow-blanketed earth.  
  
Quickly, realizing the attention had been placed on the helicopters, Snake got onto his feet and hurried to the helipad that lay meters from the actual buildings. It was nearly five football fields away, and upon noticing his distance, he began to sprint.  
  
The two helicopters that seemed to be protecting the other, stayed in the air as the U.S. helicopter touched down on the helipad. There was space enough for only one other helicopter and once the propellers of the U.S. helicopter had halted and quickly buckled into a small compartment in the top of the chopper to take up less space, one of the others began to lift into the air while the other retreated to the area beside the U.S. helicopter.  
  
Snake saw the third rise into the air and watched as it quickly flew away from Hell's Outpost heading east. Still, he ran. The helipad was 300 yards away. Then, it was 275. Next, 200. 195. 160. 120. 100. 80. 55. 22. 10. He stopped almost ten meters away and found a conveniently arranged tower of crates to hide behind as the U.S. helicopter was slowly unloaded. He moved around to the other side of the crate tower and watched a man emerge from the shadows that dwelled against the walls of Hell's Outpost. He wore a long black trench coat. His hair was silver. He wore beneath his trench coat, what the military called "Smart Skin," and his face was one that Snake had no trouble recognizing. He was Raiden.  
  
Snake looked over him in bewilderment. He looked EXACTLY like Raiden had only four months back. But.what would ever give him the inclination to go to terrorism? He had worked side by side with Snake, fighting for the good of the country, but in only one look Snake changed his mind about him. He was no friend.he was foe.  
  
"Do you have the money?" The voice of his was frighteningly familiar. Snake closed his eyes for many long moments before turning back to the scene. It was too strange.  
  
"Good. Now, let me see you all." The voice was sharp like death, like a needle in Snake's mind, driving him mad with pain. He just looked on and waited as six men, dressed in black jumpsuits and ski masks stepped out of the U.S. helicopter, and as three soldiers dressed in camouflage identical to that of the soldier Snake had killed near the cave, stepped out of the other helicopter. They raised their guns and surrounded the six others who reached for the sky as two other soldiers quickly patted them down. "You can never be too cautious, you know?" Raiden smirked.  
  
The two soldiers stepped back from the six U.S. men, drawing their guns as they waited beside Raiden who then took three steps toward them. He stared into the eyes of the first man and smiled. "You have courage. But, you believe you will never die. That you can never be touched or hurt." Raiden laid his hand on the man's shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. "You are insane to believe such foolish things."  
  
He moved on to the next, eyeing him for only a second. Then, he smiled. "You are a coward. Yet, maybe the only sensible one of this group." With that said, he moved along the line again. He skipped one man who seemed to be no more alive than dead, standing like a totem pole, and stopped before the next. He saluted Raiden and shook almost as horribly as the second in the line, but Raiden did not respond the same as he had. He merely took the man's hand in his own, and in one twist, snapped his hand out of its socket. The man yelled out, cuddling his hand like it was his life, but Raiden grabbed his chin and said very softly, "You do not serve me. You are a disgrace to your comrades." Raiden waved his other hand and as he walked down the line, two soldiers aimed and fired on the man whose blood then stained the clothes of the two who had stood next to him.  
  
Raiden looked over the next two rather quickly, not stopping for a moment, but as soon as he saw the eyes of the last, he stopped dead in his tracks. Nervously, he pivoted on the heel of his boots and faced the man with the most composed look he could come up with. Moments passed and Raiden did not act at all. He did not speak, he did not order his men to take another life; he did nothing.  
  
Snake looked up at him in confusion, as did the soldiers supporting Raiden.  
  
"You." Raiden began, his face going deathly pale. "You are.what.what are you doing here?" The man spoke no words. He simply stared back, striking Raiden down with his penetrating gaze. "Tell me! Why are YOU here?!" Slowly, the man began to turn and the soldiers took aim. Before they did anything more, Raiden's hand flew up from his side, making a right angle; his hand completely flat. They lowered their guns and Raiden watched as the man continued to turn very slowly. When he had his back to Raiden, he stopped and stood at attention.  
  
Raiden's face became as red as the depths of hell and he pulled a Desert Eagle from within his trench coat. In less than a second, it was only centimeters from the back of the man's head. In outrage, he spoke. "Do you wish to die?! Answer me! Now!" The man looked as if he was debating whether to answer yes or no, but when Raiden dug the head of the gun into the back of his head, he let out a quiet hiss of an answer.  
  
"No," he said, but Snake did not hear him. Only Raiden heard his response, and at the man's word he jumped back. Quickly, he assembled his soldiers.  
  
"Escort them ALL to the third floor. Find a vacant area, and close them in. Do not let your eyes waver! Especially from him!" Raiden pointed his Desert Eagle at the man who stood with his back turned, and turned away in disgust.  
  
Snake made a mental note of where the men would be held. But just then, a new figure appeared in front of Raiden, blocking his path back to the entrance of Hell's Outpost. It was Revolver Ocelot. Snake's eyes widened and he listened intently to what they said at the far end of the helipad, their voices louder than normal.  
  
"Raiden, what shall we do about our part of the deal?" Ocelot spoke in his dark, mysterious voice; his accent clearly Russian.  
  
"We'll keep the money. 15 million dollars. They will not get their corpse." Raiden replied, indignantly.  
  
"How do you expect to get the other 30 million from them if they don't get their corpse?"  
  
"This was one sick joke!"  
  
"What do you mean, Raiden?"  
  
"Sending.HIM?!" He pointed back at the man who stood with his back turned. Revolver Ocelot seemed to recognize him even from the back.  
  
"I will not lose this money because of your conscience, Raiden!"  
  
"It's not your money to lose! Now, help my men get them to the third floor! I need to talk with the Pentagon and inform them of their 'absent delivery boys.'"  
  
Revolver Ocelot grinned. "You are risky, but a fool. They will not pay 30 million, Raiden. Not once they hear about this."  
  
Raiden brushed past Ocelot and neared the entrance to Hell's Outpost when he turned back ad smiled. "Not 30 million - 50." Ocelot narrowed his eyes. Raiden was defiant, and Ocelot was being stepped on by him. It was something neither of them were used to. "And by the way, Shalashaska! It's Jack. Jack the Ripper."  
  
At that, Jack swiftly pivoted on his heel and continued into the shadows - where the spotlight dares not shine. 


	4. A String-Bound Stranger

Chapter Four: A String-Bound Stranger  
  
  
  
As soon as the six men from the U.S. helicopter had been hastily escorted away, the area was immediately reinforced with more armed soldiers. Snake sat, his back rested against the crates, trying to make sense of the scene that had just been played before him, but it didn't seem possible. It seemed wrong.  
  
He put his hand to his ear.  
  
"Yes?" Otacon asked.  
  
"Ocelot is here."  
  
"Revolver Ocelot? That doesn't make any sense. None at all."  
  
"He was speaking with the living head of Philosophy.Jack the Ripper."  
  
"Jack the Ripper? That seems so familiar."  
  
"It's Raiden. Everything is the same. His hair, his voice, he's still wearing the Smart Skin he had at the Big Shell. I guess he's gonna sport it as his official trademark."  
  
"He'd need a publicist for that, but.how? And why?"  
  
"I don't know. But, it looked as if one of the delivery boys frightened him."  
  
"Delivery boys?"  
  
"Weren't you watching?"  
  
"I'm using feedback data from the Soliton Radar to compile the images, but I can't see anything more detailed than a dot or two."  
  
"Hmm," Snake grunted.  
  
"What were they delivering? Were they U.S.?"  
  
"Money. 15 million. Their transport was marked with the U.S. seal."  
  
"So the government paid up? No one said anything about that while I was digging around."  
  
"Otacon, where are you right now?"  
  
"Snake, I can't give you my location. If anyone were to track it."  
  
"What city are you in?"  
  
"Washington D.C."  
  
"So, you're not using Codec to contact the people in the Pentagon?"  
  
"Right. I'm mobile."  
  
"Can you do something for me?"  
  
"You don't have anyone to say goodbye to, Snake."  
  
"Funny. I need you to check with your sources. Ask them anything and everything you can think of. If they didn't send that money, then we need to know who did."  
  
"All right, Snake. I'm on it."  
  
The Codec conversation ended there, and Snake peered around the edge of the crate tower. It was hard to make out the bodies of the soldiers close by, so he quickly flipped down his NVG's and took another look. After a moments delay, green engulfed the world around him. He watched as the soldiers paced back and forth, as the spotlights sought dark shadows about the plateau, and as the snow drifted through the air, falling to its rightful resting place - the earth.  
  
It was so strange to Snake, how the world was so peaceful. Even as he sat in his position, waiting only to kill and fight, there was so much happening around him that had nothing to do with his mission or his life. Things as peaceful as the light falling snow.the sparsely arranged pine trees.the tall peaks of the mountains. So much that would not die, even if he were to meet his end that night. But, they were dangerous things. They made him feel too relaxed.too at ease. And that was a dangerous thing.  
  
He quickly left his thoughts and flipped up his NVG's. Suddenly, everything returned to normal and the darkness became the norm yet again. Standing guard at the two entrance doors were two armed soldiers: wearing that odd camouflage. They had not moved all the while, and he waited and watched, expecting them to do something. Still, they did not move. But, just then, he heard something in the direction of the plateau.  
  
"Hmm? What's this?" Snake straightened his back against the tower of crates when he heard the voice. "Huh?! Footprints?!"  
  
Snake's eyes widened. 'Damn!' he thought. The soldier ran to the two guards that stood by the doors. He stressed to them that there was an intruder; that much, Snake had gathered.  
  
"They are footprints! There is an intruder in the area!" The soldier cried, but the two at the entrance shook their heads.  
  
"You and your partner just returned from the plateau, dumbass. They're your own prints! Now get back to your damn post!" One of the guards retorted. But, the soldier did not back down.  
  
"They're not our prints! There's only one trail, and we came back from over there!" The soldier pointed and Snake looked around the crates. He saw the soldier's hand fly up to the left and at that time, another ran up to the two guards.  
  
"It wasn't us. The prints are strange," the other soldier claimed. At that, the two guards at the entrance followed the others to where the prints lay. Snake watched them go over, and saw them trace the path with their eyes. He swung behind the crates and heard them begin stepping toward him. He took notice to the unguarded entrance and in one bolt of enthusiasm, jumped up from his place in the snow, and ran for them.  
  
"Hey! You! Freeze!" The soldiers yelled out, but he did not stop. His legs moved like pistons, pushing him forward as they drew their guns and aimed. He was on the helipad when they fired. Quickly, he flew behind the first helicopter - the U.S. one - and then weaved behind the next with another clear view of the entrance.  
  
The soldiers still fired, but he heard less guns than he had. They were moving. Two of them had held their position, but the other two had begun to move about the area, their legs taking them behind crates and boxes to where they waited for a safe time to run again. Snake knew that if he waited, he would be surrounded, and he would have no way of escape, but it was obvious that at least one of the soldiers would have an aim on the doors and that another would have all ready called in for reinforcements that would surely come bursting from the entrance. 'Keep your nerve,' he thought.  
  
He shot a quick glance to his right. There, mounted on the side of the helicopter, was a small mirror. Conveniently enough, it was turned just so that he could see something moving in its shiny depths. He flipped down his NVG's and as he peered into the mirror, he saw a gun, set on top of a crate, and a man holding it in position. Snake wondered why the soldier had not shot him, for he was easily in sight, but he put the thought aside as he had before.  
  
He examined the reflection more closely and determined that the gun was aiming at the doors. Snake checked his SOCOM pistol and realized again that it was without ammo. He darted around the helicopter and found himself between the two. Both choppers were accessible from where he stood.  
  
His gut drove him toward the Philosophy chopper and he quickly pulled on the door. It didn't open. He raised his pistol and ran it through the window installed in the door. It shattered and he opened the door from the inside.  
  
When he jumped in, he saw a trashed interior. Items of all sorts strewn the floor of the chopper and sitting on the top was one SOCOM magazine. He had come to memorize almost every type of everything regarding the military, and he knew a SOCOM clip when he saw one.  
  
Quickly, he snatched it up and bolted back out of the chopper as he reloaded his weapon. The spotlights had moved over the helipad and it seemed as if a sniper team had moved onto the roof of the building. There was much more security than he had expected to find.  
  
Without further hesitation, he swung around the helicopter and fired once in the direction of the soldier camped behind the crate. He heard a squeal and assumed him dead. Then, he went to the other side of the helicopter, and swung out from there, taking aim at the top of the building. He fired twice, but heard only one yelp. Then, he retreated behind the chopper, all the while, shots being fired aimlessly from the two soldiers in the direction of the plateau.  
  
Snake analyzed the situation, and pondered whether to contact Otacon. Before he had answered to himself, he ran 'round the chopper and threw himself toward the entrance with every step. Time seemed to halt before his eyes and bullets whizzed by his head. He could not take cover. He could only run. And that he did; all the way to the doors, which opened invitingly as he neared them.  
  
He took a hard right the moment he entered the building, and took cover behind the wall. He waited for the doors to close, and he shot the controls mounted in the wall beside them. Sparks flew about the place, and Snake fell against the wall, his body trying to understand what his eyes only saw in a blur.  
  
But, he did not wait for his body to catch up. He gave it only the time he used to search the room, but that was not much time considering that the entrance was a tiny room with only a staircase inside.  
  
There was no time for sitting against walls, catching breath, or pondering the meaning of life. Not when four soldiers or even twenty soldiers were searching for a route into the building. But, just as he had mastered the staircase and had found himself on the first floor, he heard an odd voice, and felt an icicle run through his heart.  
  
"Vat do ve have here?" The voice was high yet feeble. It seemed shaky, but it was one Snake had never heard before. It moved around him and even as he jerked this way and that, to try and find where the voice came from, he saw nothing.  
  
"Huh?! Show yourself!" The room froze and six strings fell to Snake's arms. He jumped back and down fell a life-size puppet. It's hands, knees, feet, and head were suspended by strings that fell from nowhere and were mounted to nothing.  
  
It was a woman. Her legs as pale as wood and her clothes as thin as paint. Her cheeks were accented with red circles and her hair fell like thick red rope. Her smile was stationery. When her face changed, the transition was sudden. Smile to frown in a millisecond.  
  
"You are not happy to zee me?" The voice screeched through the night and Snake raised his gun, aiming it for the doll's head.  
  
"You're a puppet?" Snake spoke without emotion. His voice was blank.  
  
"I am Little Mary! Queen and ruler of the Marionettes!" The odd puppet disappeared into the ceiling and quickly fell back down behind him. He shifted and kept his gun pointed at her forehead. She only smiled, her face not changing at all, as she stalked toward him.  
  
"A Marionette is still a puppet."  
  
"You are confused, my friend. Marionettes are nozing like puppets."  
  
"." Snake watched her intently, even as she appeared behind him time and time again  
  
"Vhere are you headed? Going to save ze hostages?"  
  
"I haven't decided yet. First, I have to take care of you," Snake sneered, but Little Mary continued to smile.  
  
"I hate to disappoint you, but ve vill fight later. For now, I must be gone. Tata, my toy." At that, she disappeared into the ceiling, her menacing laughter echoing through the empty hallway. Snake looked left and right for a moment, to confirm that she had disappeared, and then he lowered his gun.  
  
He frowned to himself, having been referred to as the Marionette's "toy." The idea was unsettling, but before he had any time to think on the topic any longer, he heard a buzzing in his ear and quickly retreated to a nook in the hall. He crouched and put his hand to his ear. 


	5. Control

Chapter Five: Control  
  
  
  
"Did you see that?!" Snake questioned immediately.  
  
"The real question is.did you?" a voice returned, but it was not Otacon's familiar tone. It was a completely different voice. Snake looked into the empty hall with a look of confusion.  
  
"Who is this?" He asked.  
  
"You will know.soon enough. Or.you will die." The voice was shrill and squeaky, but it belonged to a man.  
  
"?!"  
  
"Remember my frequency.142.06. It may.come in handy, eventually."  
  
"Wait!" Snake yelled, but the man had all ready left. The transmission ended, and just as it had, the ringing continued. "Otacon?" He asked.  
  
"Yes?" It was Otacon.  
  
"Did you see that?! And.did you hear that transmission?"  
  
"Yea. Both. A mechanism in your body suit causes it to flash a picture using a built in visual imaging system when your heart rate significantly increases. That thing you saw.was it human?"  
  
"It didn't look like it," Snake retorted.  
  
"Did it give you any identification of itself?"  
  
"Jesus, Otacon. Don't you have some gadget on me that records everything I say?"  
  
"Yes, but unless we can take out the Jamming Tower on the Northern side of the building, its useless."  
  
"Why doesn't it jam the Codec?"  
  
"Well, most of the soldiers associated with Philosophy, reportedly have Codec installed, having been part of military nations in the past. And things like the Visual Imaging System installed in your suit.well, who would try and prepare for something like that?"  
  
"And the Soliton Radar?"  
  
"CODE has been spending its downtime on developing some sort of redirection system - something that would gather the image, but go around the jamming in order to hit the satellite and reach me."  
  
"And how did you do that?"  
  
"We ran a sensor line into the casing of the VIS (Visual Imaging System) that disguised the Soliton signal as one sent when I receive a picture, like of that puppet. The VIS works double as a Soliton imaging machine. Then, once it gathers the images, they are sent up to the satellite and get back to me in a matter of milliseconds."  
  
"Thanks for the lesson." Snake smirked.  
  
"So, the puppet - did it give you any identification?"  
  
"It calls itself Little Mary. And apparently, I'm its toy."  
  
"I can try and run the name through the computer, but I can guarantee anything."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Right, now about that transmission. I'm running a voice analyzer to try and figure out who.or what contacted you. Of course, the chances of me finding a match are slim to none."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"Well, the voices are put into an Indexer only when the individual schedules a voice test. Surely, if this man is an enemy, he would not go to get his voice Indexed."  
  
"Well, if nothing turns up, then I'll have to find him."  
  
"Heh. Snake don't go looking for trouble. What you need to do is figure out whether or not Philosophy has the Perfect Cell in their possession. And figure out where the hostages are being held. You have to set them free. They're hardened soldiers, they'll be able to help."  
  
"Roger that."  
  
"Hey, Snake, I was thinking about dinner. How about some black, crispy lungs? Sound good?"  
  
"Heh," Snake grunted and the transmission was closed.  
  
  
  
Otacon sat quietly at a computer in the lab located in the fourth leg of the Pentagon. Outside the room, federal agents sped by, trying to make important deadlines, or catch a meeting in one of the Pentagon's many conference rooms. Otacon looked up over his shoulder, through the glass walls, to watch the people run. His eyes followed them through the halls and into the rooms, and they never strayed from the people. The people. The people.  
  
Where were they going? To meetings. Why were they going there? To keep the people safe. Still, even after going over the questions and answers as they popped into his head, one seemed to be raised time and time again. Who were they working for? The Patriots.  
  
Whether they knew it or not, they weren't really helping anyone, nor were they assassinating foreign rulers that upset the U.S. The Patriots were saving the people and the Patriots were assassinating the foreign rulers that upset them. The people who lived their lives only because they knew they were not just the same as everyone else, had no idea about the Patriots. Only highest government officials knew the truth.  
  
"Its people like them," Otacon said aloud, watching a team of three soldiers walking down the hall toward the room he sat within. "They are the ones that the stress is pinned on. They do what they are told, and they get burnt." Otacon watched as the soldiers quickened their pace. Then, when one of them pointed toward Otacon, he stopped cold.  
  
"Damn!" Otacon turned to his computer and on the screen he saw a flashing notice. "How could I be so stupid?" He tried to remove the notice, but it kept blinking: System Locked. The Patriots controlled the government. The government controlled the Pentagon. The Pentagon controlled the computer network. The computer network controlled him. "Damn!"  
  
Otacon jumped up from his chair and shot a look at the soldiers as they neared the lab. He turned and ran for the other door as something began to rumble in his left pocket. He reached inside and pulled out a cell phone. As he bolted through the door and ran down the right hall, which led outside, he turned on the phone.  
  
"Otacon, Farrel here," the man spoke calmly. He seemed young, in his mid- twenties. He was Otacon's main source of information in the Pentagon, which he had just exited. Ahead of him was a large lawn littered with federal agents leaving one side of the Pentagon to reach the other. Otacon looked to his right and bounded into a wall of hedges that sat against the inner wall of the Pentagon.  
  
"Now is not a good time," Otacon replied, hurriedly.  
  
"Why? What's wrong?" Farrel asked intensively.  
  
"I was on the computers.they were being monitored.there are some military men on my tail. I just got." Otacon stopped as the soldiers ran onto the lawn and stopped. They peered left and right and then one of them pulled a radio from his back belt loop.  
  
"Otacon?" Farrel asked, but Otacon said nothing.  
  
The soldier spoke. "This is Jones. Suspect has disappeared. Requesting search team, sir." Otacon waited for the soldier to continue. "Yes sir.not a problem, sir.thank you." Otacon took the thanks as a verification of a search party. The soldiers stood against the wall beside the entrance, almost twelve meters away from Otacon.  
  
"Otacon?! What's happening?!" Farrel cried.  
  
"I'm outside." he whispered, quietly. "I'm in the courtyard. I need a way out. Badly."  
  
"Slow down. I can get you out of there, but have you gotten any word regarding Hell's Outpost?" Farrel insisted.  
  
"15 million dollars were delivered to the terrorists. Have you heard anything about a delivery?"  
  
"They all ready have the money?! How could that be?!"  
  
"I don't know, but have you heard anything? Anything at all?"  
  
"No. Otacon, wait there. I'll get you out," Farrel said and the transmission ended.  
  
Otacon had no choice. He had to sit and wait until someone came to help him, and as he watched the soldiers by the doors, he noticed their hostility. Of course they did not know why they had been ordered after Otacon, but even if they were unknowingly corrupting the nation, they were more frightening than someone with higher intelligence of the Patriots. They thought that Otacon was nothing more than a scheming punk. Since they knew no better, they would go to much greater lengths to capture him, where as those who knew of his intelligence and of his skills, would not pursue. Control. It was all about control. 


	6. Blueprints

Chapter Six: Blueprints  
  
  
  
Otacon slouched behind the wall of hedges and sighed. There were too many things nagging him, and he could deal with none of them as long as he was stuck where he was. He thought about contacting Snake, but immediately shot the idea back down for two reasons. One, the most obvious, he would distract Snake from his mission, and two, transmissions to the Rockies can cause the security at the Pentagon to wonder.  
  
So, after he had quite simply ruled out all of his other options, he sat. It was evident to him, now, that sitting was about the only thing he could do in his present situation. Sit. And wait. And so, he did. But, passing the time was a terrible task. He tried to play games in his head, or think of how Snake would handle the problem, and then his mind wondered into a different area: one he hadn't explored since abandoning the Metal Gear Rex project on Shadow Moses Island. Everything was blue, and on the blue began bold, white lines that quickly formed a scale: One inch equal to every meter, were the words above it. Then, his eyes took over and began tracing the body of something oddly familiar, yet so distant.  
  
He sent the white lines up, then down, then to the right, down, back up, and to the left. Slowly, but surely, whatever he was trying to construct, was taking form before him. Memories of the past flooded his mind as a machine in his head worked furiously to process the thoughts and filter them into a presentable image that sat on the blue page.  
  
The noises from outside of his imagination forced him to realize that a search party had entered the courtyard. He 'minimized' his drawing and watched through eyes that seemed so far away. Beyond the hedges were four soldiers, their bodies wrapped in black bulletproof material, and their arms cradling AKU-74's. The black of their guns caused Otacon to fall back into his drawing and the blue suddenly washed out his vision of the outside world, once again.  
  
The white streaked the page. Up, down, left, up, left, down a ways, right, up, left. A new line began. It went right, down, right, up, left, up, right, down, left. It also ended, and he moved to another part of the page, in hopes of blotting it with the white also, swallowing up its dark sea of color. All time faded and with it, Otacon's realization of the world around him. Everything he once knew deteriorated, leaving only the blue page, the white lines, and a few memories to model after.  
  
  
  
Timothy Farrel, CIA agent for six years, and prime source of information regarding the Patriots as well as Philosophy, burst from the Pentagon's hallways and found himself in the open, green courtyard, where Otacon had reported he was hidden. Farrel's eyes scanned the area and stopped on seven figures, huddled by the doorway on the other side of the courtyard.  
  
Four of them stood out from the others as they wore bullet-proof material about their bodies, and in their arms slept very powerful weapons: AKU- 74's. Farrel had been trained in the field of weaponry when he had entered the agency, and since then, he had made it his duty to memorize any and all military equipment available. He had been specifically assigned to cases involving militaristic conflict, and thus, his expertise was a necessity, not a luxury.  
  
Knowing that taking a look around the courtyard hedges would come off as a little peculiar, Farrel quickly debunked the possibility, and slowly walked forward, to the center of the lawn. His eyes held firmly on the soldiers at the opposite end of the courtyard, he continued, and slowly pulled his cell phone from his pocket. As he walked, he punched in Otacon's number, and verified it. Then, he waited, as Otacon had done for him.  
  
  
  
The white lines did not waver their courses over the blue pages as the phone rang in Otacon's pocket. He was too caught up in thoughts to realize that it rang, or that the soldiers who stood not far away, heard it.  
  
  
  
Farrel watched from where he was, and saw the soldiers begin to peer over their shoulders and took notice to how they quickly woke their guns and held them at alert. In an instant, he turned off his cell phone, and watched as their amazement slowly subsided. Sighing, he headed back the other way, and raised his phone to his ear yet again. He pressed a few buttons and a voice flowed into his ear.  
  
"Charles Tailor," the man said, and Farrel quickly replied.  
  
"Charlie, it's Tim."  
  
"Oh! How are things goin'?"  
  
"Not good. I need some help."  
  
"Yea? What with?"  
  
"I need a transport, now."  
  
"I thought you took your car. Aren't you at the Pentagon?"  
  
"Yea. But, I'm having a little trouble. I need air transport."  
  
"Tim, you know I don't control that sorta thing."  
  
"But you know the people who do. Now, can you get me a chopper, or not?"  
  
"I."  
  
"Yes or no?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"All right. I'm in the courtyard. I need someone here in three minutes." He hung up, thrust his cell phone into his left pocket, and checked his watch. "Three minutes. I hope ya pull this through."  
  
  
  
The blue page had not moved from Otacon's gaze and still, white, bold lines continued to run across the vista as if fire was biting at their tails. As time went by, the lines began to clearly outline something. Considering the scale it was relatively large, but its actual form was yet to appear without haze.  
  
The white lines did not cease. Left, down, left, down, right, up, left, up, right, up, left, down, left, up, right, down, right, up, left, down. The line ended and a new one began. The pattern did not change. A line was used, and then another began. That one ended; the next appeared. Still, the image that Otacon was trying to make out of their intersections and gaps, was not yet taking form. It had become no clearer in the last three minutes that Farrel stood in the center of the courtyard, than it had in the moments before.at least, to the average citizen it would appear to have been unchanged. This was not true.  
  
  
  
Farrel looked down at his watch. Three minutes had passed. The search party had dispersed throughout the inner halls of the Pentagon, and the other three men had lit their cigarettes and set them neatly into their mouths, lightly clenched by their dry, chapped lips. They laughed and looked onward at Farrel. He matched their gaze and the four of them stood, without straying from one another. Time passed, but they did not.  
  
One minute went by. Nothing happened. Two minutes passed. They did not move. Three minutes. Silence. Four. Five. Six. All were the same, and all the while, Otacon was keeping to himself, drawing his thoughts on paper. How foolish.  
  
Then, just as the three soldiers turned their faces from Farrel, an increasingly loud noise, one that had been growing during their standoff, exploded as a "Night" chopper entered the air space above the Pentagon. Otacon did not hear the noises. He stayed in his blue odyssey and as the Night weighed downward, the three soldiers caught a glance from the pilot to Farrel. One of them pulled out his radio while the others held their guns at alert and hurried to where Farrel stood.  
  
Farrel shot a glance back up at the pilot and a rope fell down for him; the helicopter only meters above. Farrel gripped the rope and braced himself as the chopper lifted off of the ground. The two soldiers who had made their way near the center of the courtyard only aimed. They did not shoot one bullet from the pitch-black barrels of their guns. They only watched.  
  
Farrel did not try to move any higher up the rope, but instead, motioned for the pilot to take the helicopter back down near the hedges that sat against the wall of the Pentagon. The soldier standing by the door put away his radio and pulled forth his weapon as the helicopter came back down. He took aim at Farrel, but did not shoot.  
  
"Identify yourself!" The soldier shouted and Farrel motioned for the helicopter to move closer to the hedges. Then, the chopper raised into the air, let out more rope, and Farrel reached into the hedges to feel the untidy hair of Otacon at his fingertips. With one tug, Otacon woke from his hazy, unconsciousness and stood, revealing himself to the other soldier who quickly turned his gun to him.  
  
"I'll take it from here, soldier," Farrel said, and he moved up on the rope to give Otacon room. Just as Otacon gripped the rope and the chopper moved into the air, four soldiers burst out from the halls of the Pentagon, just behind the other, and aimed into the sky.  
  
"Dammit, man! Why didn't you take them out?!" One of them yelled, but he lowered his gun as did the others. The chopper had gotten too far. Were they to shoot it down, more trouble could be caused, taking more lives. They worked directly under the Patriots. They did not pursue their target, but instead they too watched as Farrel moved into the hull, and stretched a welcoming hand out for Otacon who followed him into the chopper's interior.  
  
  
  
Farrel fell against a wall and took a deep breath. Then, he playfully pushed Otacon who did nothing. In Otacon's mind, he was finishing his drawing that had miraculously built itself before him in a matter of minutes. Slowly, he made the last few lines that connected the last few gaps, and when he looked at the picture as a whole, he too fell against a wall of the helicopter. He sighed.  
  
The blueprints of his dream were complete. 


	7. A Paradox

Chapter Seven: A Paradox  
  
  
  
The halls seemed endless. When you would see a dead end, another path would branch this way or that, and around the next corner would be yet another guard: armed with a gun, and suited in the same odd camouflage as the one before him. Nothing seemed to change. Endless…endless halls…  
  
A shadow crept slowly around the corner. A soldier stood, headphones held about his ears, looking at nothing but the endless hallways. His back was turned to the shadow as the body that gave it life slowly and quietly stalked up behind him. He tapped his feet on the shiny white floor, trying to match the beat of the song that had preoccupied him.  
  
One quick movement and he fell to the ground…dead. Snake stood above him, his arms at his sides after having swiftly broken the man's neck. All that could be heard was the music emanating from the headphones that rested a few feet from the soldier's head. Snake kneeled down beside the soldier and delicately lifted the headphones from the floor. He held them wide, as to not touch his ears, and brought them close to is face. Before he heard three notes, he cast the headphones across the floor and began to massage his ears.  
  
"That's music?" he asked himself and stood. His eyes strayed to the body that lay before him. He wore no mask, like the others, and Snake could see his face - so pale - staring back at him. Snake pulled his eyes away and stepped over the body as he continued down the hall, stepping on the headphones as he went.  
  
He continued nothing but halls lay out before him. As time passed, he came to notice the scarce number of guards populating the area. But, as he came to another corner, he stopped and pushed his back against the adjacent wall. Two voices were shooting back and forth in the next room.  
  
"When will he be here?" It was Revolver Ocelot, his Russian accent unmistakable. Then, another jumped in. It belonged to Raiden or Jack the Ripper as he had come to call himself.  
  
"Should be soon," he replied. "He liked the price."  
  
"15 million? Are you giving him all of it?" Ocelot questioned. Snake looked around the corner to see the two standing at the foot of a freight elevator. The look on Jack's face was so familiar: somewhat mischievous, but at the same time so anxious.  
  
"Our share will be here soon enough. 15 million is a small price to pay for such a valuable item," he returned. Snake looked confused.  
  
"Valuable item?" Snake asked himself in a quiet tone as he watched the two bicker and negotiate.  
  
"So, they matched your request? Even after the delivery?" Ocelot asked.  
  
"Hmm, this is where it gets tricky. They deny ever having sent the thirty- million."  
  
"How is that?" Ocelot looked confused, himself.  
  
"We had the money checked. It's valid, not marked, but look at it this way: it's an extra 15 million - no effort required."  
  
"You are foolish like your father before you. Both of you trusted those you should not."  
  
"Only, I don't trust you. I know better than that. I think…maybe it is you that has their trust misplaced," Jack grinned. Snake could sense something strange in Jack's voice. He had never spoken so maturely. He was always ecstatic, and as he stood around the corner, he seemed so much different in that sense. "Turret is with the hostages on the third floor. Watch for your friend and when he does arrive, have him find me. Then we can get on with the operation."  
  
Ocelot looked down at the floor and then up at Jack. "Remember, Mr. Ripper…do not place trust in those you should not." He turned and started for a door in the left wall of the room. As he disappeared, Jack watched with angry eyes.  
  
"You, Shalashaska," Jack said very quietly, as to not alert Ocelot, "would do best to remember that yourself." Then, he stepped onto the freight elevator and waited for it to ascend to the levels above. Snake listened closely, and managed to determine that Jack had gone to the second floor.  
  
"Second floor – Jack, third floor – hostages…third floor first," Snake told himself and then he stood and moved into the next room where Jack and Ocelot had just been conversing. All he had to do was wait for the elevator to come back down, and then he would take it up to the third floor and would search until he located the hostages. "I wonder…who's Turret?"  
  
Just then, he heard the elevator kick in and he shifted to watch it come down, but as he watched he picked out four figures standing on the descending platform. Without room for thought, he threw himself behind a small crate and tried to hide his body, completely.  
  
The elevator halted and the barred doors slid aside as the men readied their weapons and stepped onto the dusty floor. Behind them, the doors of the elevator shut tight. "Patrol the halls," one of them said and the others replied with simple nods. Then, they split – two and two – and went on their way, but just as Snake was getting ready to stand, one of them jerked around and raised his weapon, the crosshairs dead center on Snake's chest. He jumped aside, and a bullet flew.  
  
Dodging him, narrowly, the bullet shattered the concrete wall as it impacted behind Snake who had fallen heavily on the floor of the room. All of the soldiers had turned, and were aiming where he was crouched…right behind a crate…a crate full of explosives. Only on the other side of the crate were the words displayed, and it was then that Snake realized his unimaginable luck.  
  
"Come out! Hands up!" One of the soldiers yelled, but Snake simply grunted and began to stand, one hand in the air, and the other aimed at the explosives box. The soldiers looked from Snake to the crate, their eyes running to and fro in confusion and bewilderment. "Drop the gun!"  
  
"You are in no position to give me orders, soldier," Snake remarked and glanced down at the crate, a grin spread wide across his face. "I'm going to give you five seconds to get out of my sight, or else I blow this place sky-high." The soldiers did not budge. "One…" Snake began, and they debated in their minds what action to take. "Two…" their legs become weary and their minds began to stray from their duties. "Three…" Snake did not waver an inch, and his eyes remained set on the soldiers, his gun on the crate at his feet. "Four…" The soldiers slowly backed away, and just before he yelled out again, they turned 'round and ran in desperation, fear across their faces. "Five!" All but one of them had turned away, the other stood, aiming at Snake, his hands shaking. Snake didn't shoot the crate, and the soldier called out, "Freeze!" At the sound of this, the other soldiers returned, and Snake found himself pinned down. He arrived at a paradox.  
  
He could shoot the explosives crate, die, but also manage to take out the other soldiers, and possibly set off a chain reaction that could lead to the destruction of other sections of Hell's Outpost. On the other hand, he could roll aside, and let the bullets fly. Without time to think, he rolled to the right.  
  
The moment the first bullet left the first weapon of the first soldier, one left Snake's SOCOM and pierced the still air with an intention to kill. And, as the concrete wall seemed to implode in various locations where the messengers of the enemy landed, a single body fell, and then a second, and a third, and as Snake recovered from his roll, the last bullet in the last clip, of the last weapon, of the last soldier landed behind him.  
  
Snake stood, and the soldier tried desperately to fire his gun again, but to his misfortune, his handiwork would not be the one to take Snake's life. Terrified and without ideas, the soldier ran for the elevator, but before he had a chance to hop onboard, or even engage the doors in sliding aside, he fell against the bars and slumped to the floor. Snake lowered his SOCOM and holstered it, then went over to the elevator.  
  
"Sorry," he said, as he looked down on the man whose eyes were wide and afraid, peering through the holes in his ski mask. Snake grabbed the soldier's soldiers and slid him aside before pushing the button to the right of the elevator, marked with an arrow pointing upwards. The barred doors slid aside and Snake stepped on to the platform. There, he stood as the doors closed and as the room where four new bodies lay dead, passed out of sight.  
  
  
  
The elevator doors opened again, and Snake saw out into a hall, which was connected to one very important room. He took notice to the sign that hung from the ceiling of the hall: Floor 3. The hostages were being held somewhere on that floor, and someone by the name of Turret was waiting for a rat like Snake to walk on in. It would be good targeting practice, no?  
  
Snake stepped into the hall, his SOCOM raised high as he looked left, then right. The hall was clear as far as he could tell, and from what he could tell, to the left were two doors, and to the right – one. "A fork in the road…left," he said, and he turned in that direction and continued on.  
  
A few feet later, he found himself at the first door. There was no window built into it, thus he had no way of telling what he was walking into, but the risk was something he had surely taken many times before. He avoided crashing down the door, for he realized it or any other loud sound could alert nearby soldiers. So, he had to quietly sneak into the room and at the same time not fire his gun, even if it meant protecting himself. But, if it did come to that, he would surely not hesitate to pull the trigger for as long as he took another life, his would not be in vain.  
  
He turned the doorknob very slowly, and when it was turned all that it could be, he lightly pushed in on it and crouched low as it opened. Luckily, it did not creak for Hell's Outpost had only JUST been completed, and was still being checked by the engineers and construction workers who had, evidently, wound up in the very room where he was. As he looked in, he realized that he had found the room he was looking for. All around, were hostages, but they all faced the other direction.  
  
It closed, and Snake quickly scurried beneath a table and peered on. Among the hostages, one was facing him. As Snake squinted harder, he realized that it was one of the delivery boys, his ski mask still fit snugly over his head. After having heard all that he had, he knew that something weird was up with the money. The government (or Patriots, rather) had denied ever having sent the money, and this fact made Snake very curious. The delivery boy had to know something, so he watched and moved into the center of the room and quickly came to the delivery boy who was tied against a concrete pillar. Snake crouched in front of him, and began.  
  
"Wake up," he grunted and the man's eyes opened. Through the ski mask, Snake could tell that he had begun to smile. "You were one of the deliverers…what do you know? Who is it you're working for?" The man did not answer, but instead sat motionless. "Talk to me!" Snake kept quiet, but his voice had become strained and angry. Still, the man did not answer, but as Snake felt the floor of the room shudder, the man's eyes grew wider, and he jerked his head forward as if to warn him.  
  
"A visitor." A young, but bold voice erupted from behind, and Snake quickly jumped up, raised his SOCOM, and sidestepped toward to door, then stopped. The man was somewhat bulky, but still nothing like Vulcan Raven had appeared. On his back were two large objects, their heads jutting outward and in sight of Snake. They appeared to be some sort of weapons, but without a closer look, he could not be sure. "What brings you here, visitor?" The man asked.  
  
"You're Turret, right?" Snake questioned, and the man laughed a hearty, sly laugh, then narrowed his eyes on Snake.  
  
"That is right. You look…vaguely familiar…Solid Snake is it? It seems that you have been expected here, tonight."  
  
"What does that mean?" Snake slowly continued to move toward the door.  
  
"Ah ah ah, stop right there," Turret's index finger was waving in the air, a grin spread across his face. "You're not leaving this room…alive. In fact, I can think of two ways for you to handle this situation. Either you run, and most likely spill your blood across this room, or you shoot at me and I kill this friend of yours." Turret held his right arm behind his back, and one of the giant objects that had been on his back, seemed to jump onto his arm. He caught it and aimed it at the delivery boy. Snake looked at it oddly.  
  
"Fortune…" he said.  
  
"Ah, yes. You know, I had this weapon specially-designed. It's nearly an exact replica of the late Fortune's gun, and this," he said as he held his left arm behind his back, pulling forth a long, heavy-looking chain gun, and "is a slightly shorter replica of the late Vulcan Raven's chain gun You see, I find myself at a paradox. On one hand, I have Fortune's weapon, which I could use to kill you, and on the other, I have Raven's. The decision is simply mind-boggling!" He paused for a moment, but then continued. "I do believe…I have reached a conclusion. I will use them both. Snake," he began, "fire!" 


	8. Like in a Game of Chess

Chapter Eight: Like in a Game of Chess  
  
  
  
Turret watched as Snake fired his SOCOM, spending the last of its ammo. As the bullets whizzed toward Turret's chest, they became frightened and fled in every direction, inevitably crashing into the walls. One bullet had nearly taken the life of one of the hostages, and when Snake stopped and threw aside his weapon, he watched Turret lay back his head and laugh a deep, disturbing laugh…really, more of a dark cackle than a laugh…or a wretched howl to the moon, like a wolf would do if it had sighted fresh meat exposed and defenseless.  
  
"Snake," he proclaimed. "You do not take me for a fool, do you?" He watched Snake's face become crooked and then howled again, noticing the humorous, uncertainty that had come about him. "You are not wise…" Turret's eyes strayed to his waistline, where, at the edge of his hip was clamped the same device Snake had seen strung about Ocelot during the Sons of Liberty incident.  
  
"All that's left is cutting edge technology," Snake recited as if from a poem. "Heh…where'd you get yours? Ocelot mentioned Meijer, but I wasn't too sure where I would find the best deal. I was thinking Radio Shack, really." Turret smirked back.  
  
"A sense of humor, eh? I wouldn't be so cocky as you, if I were standing before two very large execution weapons. I wonder…what fuels such confidence? Do you have a plan? Heh…is there something up your sleeve?"  
  
"Maybe," Snake smiled, his eyes straying to the delivery boy that remained against the cement column to his left. The man looked oddly back, and watched his eyes go from himself to Turret, and then back again.  
  
"Do not attempt to grow a brain!" Turret demanded.  
  
"Speed," Snake said. "Good movie, but not realistic."  
  
"Movie trivia, Snake? How about we play a game?" Turret thought for a moment and then smiled. "I ask you a question. You answer correct, and you take one step closer. You answer incorrectly, and I dock you. You miss three, and I shoot."  
  
"What do I get to do when I reach you?" Snake questioned.  
  
"You get one of these two, very large guns. And then, we will duel," Turret answered. Snake did not hesitate to reply.  
  
"How is a gun going to help if you are protected by that gadget?" Snake asked, quickly.  
  
"Well," Turret began, and then paused, "it is certainly better than nothing, eh?" He put on a wide grin and then began.  
  
"Hmm…from what movie, Snake, does this line come?" He waited. "Tomorrow is another day." Turret's eyes flashed with excitement and the game had begun. Snake pondered, trying to search back, and within a few seconds, he had his answer.  
  
"Gone with the Wind," he stated very nonchalantly, and took a slow step towards Turret.  
  
"Good!" Turret cried. "It surprises me that a man like yourself would have ever seen such a movie."  
  
"I get in touch with my feminine side, occasionally," Snake grunted and awaited the next challenge.  
  
"Then this shall be more enjoyable than I had expected…this one is a musical. Think…lightning! Think cars!" Snake had no idea. Musicals had never quite been his thing.  
  
"Cats," he said, but his voice told that he had shot with a blindfold over his eyes. He was wrong.  
  
"I'm sorry, that is incorrect. The musical was Grease!" Snake didn't show any signs of fear or discontent, but instead, continued to listen. "That's one strike, Snake. Two more, and you're out!"  
  
"Next question."  
  
"What movie made the phrase, 'Show me the money!' popular?" Turret asked.  
  
"Jerry Maguire, 1996, Tom Cruise." Snake grinned. "One of my favorites." As he said that, he took another step forward, only one away from a new gun. Turret smiled very wide, showing the glinting teeth that hid behind his large lips.  
  
"Right again! That's two hits! One strike! Ready for the next one?" Turret asked, but without waiting for a reply, he continued. "In what horror movie did the killer cry, ' It's a scream, baby!'?" Snake, once again, was very unsure.  
  
"…"  
  
"No?" Turret waited, but Snake did not answer. "Scream!" Turret had yelled rather loudly, and when Snake's eyes scanned the room, he noticed several hostages flinch. Quickly, he returned to Turret, realizing that he needed to get the next question right or else he would most likely not survive. That was not something he wanted to think about, but there wasn't much else on his mind. Survival was an obvious key.  
  
"It's two and two, Snake! This next question means your life." He waited, but Snake made no sign of acknowledgement. "Right…in what movie was the phrase 'Carpe Diem' used time and time again?"  
  
Snake knew the answer right off the bat, but he knew that as soon as he took a gun, his fate was sealed. He couldn't stop Turret with or without a gun, no matter how long or heavy it was. He needed to come up with a plan. One that would allow him to stop Turret.  
  
"Still thinking?" Turret nagged. Snake stared him in the eyes - those bright, flashing eyes – and pondered. He pondered, and pondered…and pondered.  
  
"Dead Poets Society." There was silence for just a moment, but then, Turret broke it with his incessant howl.  
  
"You did it!" he cried. "Ha! You did it! Now…Snake…step forth and claim your weapon of choice," he said. Snake hesitated for less than a second, and then stepped forward. Looking to Turret's hip, he lightly took hold of Raven's large chain gun, but then in some quick motion, he pulled his hands away, one of them darting to Turret's hip, the other grasping Fortune's weapon. The action was hazed and too quick for even Turret to recognized, but when Snake took hold of Fortune's gun, took eight steps away, and faced Turret, it was obvious he had some sort of plan.  
  
"Do take care of that," Turret began. "I am very sensitive about that one."  
  
"I'll be sure not to scratch it," Snake replied and Turret gave a weary glance back at him, which was then masked with a bright, evil grin.  
  
"Snake," he paused. "Now is when we duel!" Turret lifted the chain gun quickly, before Snake even attempted to lift his own, and watched in confusion at Snake's odd stance. He had not even attempted to lift his weapon. "Burn!" Turret cried, and it was then that the delivery boy understood what Snake had done to Turret. As Snake waved for him to duck around the column, he say the small gray box stuck to the bottom of Raven's chain gun, and just as Turret pulled the trigger, the delivery boy ducked around the post.  
  
There was a flash, and in an instant, Turret howled to the moon, his arm exploding as the bullets within the chain gun were deflected in every direction. He wailed out as Snake readied Fortune's gun and took aim. The entire body of the chain gun had fallen apart, and lay shattered about the floor, while Turret's arm was ripped and torn like paper through a shredder.  
  
Streams of blood made their way about Turret's body as he kneeled on the ground, holding what remained of his arm like an infant. Tears began to smear the blood and a look of hurt and rage consumed the man's face as he stared, as if insane, at Snake.  
  
The cries of the hostages about the room began to subside, slowly, and the delivery boy had worked his way around the pole, and was again facing the two. Snake held Fortune's gun even with Turret's head, and kept steady.  
  
"I'm the king of the world," Snake stated. "What movie?" Turret did not let go of his arm, thick blood trickling from it like tomato soup. His eyes were flush with pain, and his legs were crumpled beneath his body. Beside him were the pieces of Raven's chain gun and among them, the shards of his only method of protection. It had failed him.  
  
He hesitated, a large bump growing in his throat. "Titanic," he growled. Snake grinned and lowered his gun. Turret's eyes shot in every direction, too confused and bewildered to understand Snake's generosity. Then, he began to shift onto his feet, Snake's two eyes scanning his every move. A grin spreading across his face, Turret found balance, his arm still cradled against his chest. "Like in a game of chess," he started, "you never let your opponent live longer than he must." His grin turned into a nasty sneer and as quickly as he could, he let his shredded arm go limp, and he slipped a scout knife from his belt. As soon as he let it fly, a shot rang out and the knife clattered against the wall. Turret looked, stunned, at Snake and fell as a blue surge of electricity consumed his last drop of life.  
  
"I didn't intend to," Snake muttered as he regained his comfortable footing having dodged the knife moments earlier. Fortune's gun fell to the floor and he slowly advanced on the delivery boy who remained tied against the column. He looked down. "What do you know?" He asked, as if Turret's body was not lying behind him.  
  
The delivery boy cocked his head, motioning for Snake to remove the rope that was strung about him. Snake gave him a quick look of uncertainty and then turned on his heel to retrieve the knife Turret had launched at him. He bent down and picked it up in his right hand, its handle of glossy leather and its blade of shining steel. It was heavy.  
  
Returning to the delivery boy, he stopped and holstered his SOCOM that lay on the floor. "Good gun," he said and kneeled beside the delivery boy, proceeding to cut the rope that bound him, uncomfortably, to the column. He stood, and the delivery boy did the same, looking him in the eye. Snake couldn't help but recognize the glimmering blue of his eyes…they were oddly familiar.  
  
"So?" Snake pursued.  
  
The delivery boy stared at him, and then smirked. "Can't utter a word," he said and Snake stumbled back in shock. "Take care of these hostages. I'll meet up again with you later." Snake's mouth fell open, slightly, as the delivery boy turned and ran for the exit, turning back only once to remove his black ski mask.  
  
It was Jack. 


	9. Desperado

Chapter Nine: Desperado  
  
  
  
Jack…it was Jack. Snake stared at him as he disappeared from the room. Since they had parted after the Sons of Liberty incident, he had not spoken directly to him and as he watched him run away, his skimpy, rather annoying style shone true. Quickly, Snake crouched against the column and reached for his ear.  
  
"Otacon?" Snake questioned. There was a moment's hesitation.  
  
"Yea…what is it Snake?" Otacon's voice was shaky, but somewhat confident and proud. Something had happened.  
  
"Weren't you watching?" Snake asked, somewhat confused.  
  
"I…I couldn't. I don't have access to any feedback systems where I am," he replied, cautiously awaiting Snake's surely bewildered reply.  
  
"Then where are you?"  
  
"Umm…in a helicopter. I'm heading your way," he replied. His voice began to crack.  
  
"Christ," Snake shook his head. "You were never this anxious to be on the front line before."  
  
"Something happened. I'm sorry, Snake, I can't tell you everything right now. I'm sort of busy. What is it that you needed to tell me?"  
  
Snake sensed something had happened and he wasn't about to let it go. He knew Otacon too well to miss such an obvious attempt at changing the subject. "What happened, Otacon?"  
  
"I had to relocate, that's all. What do you need?" Otacon seemed preoccupied, but Snake couldn't understand what work he would have that wasn't pertaining to their mission.  
  
" Why are you coming this way?"  
  
"It went sour. It seems as if the Patriots were watching the networks at the Pentagon, which I was utilizing to receive data regarding your mission." Otacon answered tiredly. It was obvious to Snake and would have been to any other person, whether they knew Otacon or not, that he had been through something extraordinarily exhausting. Never, unless he had been put under some sort of rigorous trials, did he speak in any tone different from excitement, or nervousness.  
  
"Are you alone?" Snake asked quizzically.  
  
"Besides the pilot and one other man, yes," Otacon returned. "And don't worry they're both secure. The man is Timothy Farrel, our prime source for information. He called in for a helicopter using a secured line."  
  
"Who was the receiver?"  
  
"A good friend of his. Snake do not worry. I'm sure you have your own problems to take care of."  
  
"Actually, I do. That's why I tried to get a hold of you…it seems a friend of Ocelot's is going to be arriving here shortly. Philosophy is expecting to buy something off of him or her, and they're going to use the money they recovered recently to get it."  
  
"Do they have any idea who sent the money?" Otacon asked, Farrel obviously quieting him in the background. Snake's brow curled and he stared strangely into space.  
  
"Not the government, that's for sure. All claims were denied, apparently, but what I really needed to tell you….One of the delivery boys was Jack…I am in the room where the hostages are being held. Had to get past a pretty beefy guard, but the threat is neutralized. When I cut him free, he pulled off his ski mask and I saw his face. There's no doubt it's him."  
  
"But, how is that possible?" Otacon asked. "He had been meeting with Ocelot when the money arrived. He spoke to the deliverers!" Farrel attempted to hush him again, but Otacon ignored the attempt.  
  
"I remembered something Jack had said," Snake began, "when I saw him at the helipad…He seemed to be upset when he spoke with one of the delivery men, and when he had spoken with Ocelot…I don't know what the hell is going down here, but I have a feeling someone else is acting in the mission."  
  
"Do you have any way of getting those hostages to safety, Snake?" Otacon questioned.  
  
"I don't have any means of transportation from here. I don't see any way to get them out."  
  
"Then you'll need to leave them there. Philosophy wont kill them or else they could lose the money they're expecting from the government. If you could, try and dig up some information on Ocelot's friend, and if you need anything check back with me."  
  
"Got it." Then, the conversation ended and Snake got to his feet. He took a look at the hostages whose eyes portrayed their obvious fear. Grimly, he turned away from them and started for the door when he heard them begin to sob. Short cries burst out and Snake stopped at the door Jack had left through and looked over his shoulder. As soon as he did, the people stopped, and he stared at the ground. "Forgive me," he said and left.  
  
  
  
Hell's Outpost was comprised of four above ground levels and was (security- wise) controlled from the Spire as it was called. The Spire was a five level control tower posted on the mountainside, less than a football field away from the facilities themselves. It had the most technologically advanced security systems (available to the public) installed. The only known security network that surpassed it was the network used in the most important buildings in the United States. These included the White House, the Pentagon, along with several other monuments of power.  
  
The infrastructure of Hell's Outpost was designed to circulate cold air in unison with negatively charged air particles. Proved prematurely, Oxygen was claimed unable to take on a charge, but through research this theory was denied. Using a laser, (like the one J. J. Thomas had used to find electrons in an atom) scientists could "eliminate" the electrons within the Oxygen atom in order to give it a negative charge. When the cold air is exposed to these genetically mutated atoms, which are unable to deteriorate or combine with other fumes, (causing pollution) the air heats itself quicker than any known machine.  
  
Max Styles, the designer of Hell's Outpost, had worked with Socrates for months to find a suitable layout of the building. When they finally did manage to find a well-suited design, Socrates awarded Max an innumerable amount of money, and then hired construction workers and managers to build it. By this time, Max had retired, living off the sole pay from Hell's Outpost. When Socrates died, the main structure of Hell's Outpost had been completed, but in tribute to him, Max returned to work and helped oversee the rest of the construction phase. As it turned out, Max was on site when Philosophy took control, and as it turned out, he was sitting before Snake that very moment.  
  
  
  
Hell's Outpost had two accessible helipads. One was located conveniently at the foot of the building, set near the entrance (where Snake snuck inside) and the second was located on the roof of the forth floor of the building. This helipad is only reached through a high-level security elevator shaft on the third floor that leads to the roof.  
  
Just as Snake had made his exit, the wind began to cut and a helicopter moved over the mountains through the heavily falling snow. The door of the elevator opened on the roof and out stepped Ocelot, his revolvers properly holstered. He had gone for the helipad after meeting with the security agents on the first floor of Hell's Outpost to gather information regarding the "intruder". Using the stairs to reach the third floor, he avoided any confrontations with the "intruder" and made his way to the high-level security elevator shaft on the eastern side of the building.  
  
The helicopter slowed as it came overhead, passing once before beginning to hover down to the helipad. A man sat within the helicopter, his eyes gleaming as Ocelot watched. Before the propellers atop the chopper had halted, the man he stepped onto the helipad, his face watching his feet. He wore a long white overcoat much like Ocelot's brown one, and beneath it was a black shirt, along with a pair of warm, black pants. His hands were protected with cycling-style gloves that cut off halfway up each finger, and slung across his back was a long and expensive sniper rifle. Holstered beneath his overcoat were guns of all sorts, and in his right hand was a silver suitcase. He looked up at Ocelot, grinned, and tipped the white western hat that sat over his shiny black hair.  
  
"Long time no see, friend." Ocelot smiled and held out a hand with which he shook the man's.  
  
"Yes," the man replied in a cold, flat voice, "longer than either of us would have liked." His grin was like that of a snake. His nose was much like Michael Jackson's (no offense intended) and his eyes dark and penetrating.  
  
"You have it?" Ocelot asked. The man looked down at the suitcase.  
  
"The money," the man began, "do you have it?" Ocelot hesitated to answer this question, for he was unsure of whether Jack the Ripper had truly intended to use the money they had all ready scavenged.  
  
"I do. If you would like to follow me, I can take you to Mr. Ripper. He has the money secure, and wishes a word with you before the operation begins," Ocelot stared at the man who simply nodded in return. At that, they went for the elevator. "What is it that you go by now, old friend?"  
  
The man stopped and Ocelot did only moments later having realized the man's halt. He looked back. "Desperado," he said and Ocelot smiled an evil smile. His friend had come, and so had something both he and 'Mr. Ripper' were very much looking forward to… 


	10. The Perfect Cell

Chapter Ten: The Perfect Cell  
  
  
  
The elevator stopped on the third floor, and opened to the white, lit halls of Hell's Outpost. Ocelot led the way to the staircase, Desperado following close behind. Ocelot was not one to take trust in others, but Desperado seemed closer. It was clear that a friendship, or something of the sort, had been in place preceding their reunion. It was odd seeing Ocelot act like a friend; like a companion.  
  
They came to the steps that led to the top of the building, and to the ground floor. Something lurched in Ocelot's stomach and he swiftly peered up the stairwell.  
  
"Hmm," he thought out loud, "peculiar…" Ocelot turned back to Desperado who was standing perfectly content behind him. He looked ready for anything. The bulges in his jacket eluded to the fact that he was loaded with guns, and there was no doubt that he was nearly as speedy as Ocelot when the fighting grew intense. Ocelot seemed to respect him, and unless he had some sort of trick or skill, he would not be subject to such respect.  
  
"Shall we?" Desperado slipped a Desert Eagle from a holster beneath his overcoat. He thirsted for battle, but Ocelot waved him down.  
  
"No," Ocelot replied. "Nothing more than a rat," he said as he stepped in front of Desperado and started down the stairs. "Or a snake…" he muttered to himself, but it was too quiet for Desperado to pick up and so they continued down the stairs to the level below where Jack the Ripper had claimed he would be waiting.  
  
When they reached the landing, Ocelot stepped into the hallway ahead of him, and tightened his belt before looking left and then right, examining his surroundings. The lurch had not left him, and Desperado sensed his concern.  
  
"Are you sure, Shalashaska?" Desperado implored. Ocelot grimaced, and without turning, he replied.  
  
"Curiosity killed the cat, my friend," Ocelot spoke softly: his way of saying that they would ignore his instinct. "Come," he pivoted to the right and continued down the hall, Desperado following him, a look of disappointment in his eyes.  
  
Before long, the lurch in Ocelot's stomach had died away, and the two of them had reached a door that seemed to be their destination, for Ocelot had stopped at it. He looked back at Desperado and said before entering the room; "It is good having you by my side again." Desperado tipped his western-style hat and at that, Ocelot entered the room.  
  
Sitting at a desk at the far end of the room, which was furnished quite nicely, was Jack. His feet were propped on the desk and he seemed to be admiring the room around him when the two entered. It was very different from the rest of the Outpost. The lighting was dim and yellow, giving the red walls a slight glow, and unlike the tiled and concrete floors, they were carpeted. Ocelot led Desperado to the desk and Jack lowered his feet and stood, then moved out from behind his desk to shake hands with Ocelot's friend.  
  
"Hi," Jack shook the man's hand and then retreated to his desk again, pulling open drawers in pursuit of a certain something. Then, he held up a golden key. "Sorry I have not invited you to a glass of wine, but time is of the essence, and this," he paused to insert the key in another desk drawer, "is the key to your riches." The drawer slid open and from it Jack pulled a platinum suitcase, its shape rather odd, then set it on the desk.  
  
Desperado moved in and peered into the suitcase as Jack opened it. 15 million dollars worth of green, paper bills sat there, looking back at him so invitingly. "Impressive," he said and then he set his own suitcase on the desktop next to the money, and after punching in a six-digit code on the side of the case, the locks released and an air tight mechanism slid open. Desperado lifted the lid and Jack's eyes grew with excitement.  
  
Hovering in a complex case in the shape of a three-dimensional octagon was a glowing sphere. It was the Perfect Cell. Desperado could sense Jack's anticipation, as well as Ocelot's. "The octagonal cage is the only thing keeping it from dropping. It has a built-in anti-gravity system and the oxygen within the cage is composed of pure particles, unaffected by the particles in the air we breathe." Jack moved around the desk to get a better look, and as Desperado stepped away, he continued. "The Perfect Cell itself is too small to be seen, but the radiation, along with the sheer magnetic and electric activity within it causes that glow, making it seem much larger than it truly is."  
  
"So it is safe?" Ocelot asked. Desperado shot a look at him and nodded.  
  
"Completely. As long as nobody disturbs the cage that binds it, the Perfect Cell remains entirely safe," Desperado returned and then stepped up to the suitcase of money that sat open on the desk. He held out his arms to close it, and then lifted it off of the desktop. Jack's eyes were twinkling, centered on the Perfect Cell.  
  
"Hold on," Jack called and Desperado waited. Jack turned back to him and smiled. "I was hoping you could stay with us for a while longer. We are running short on guards, and security is lacking…" Desperado could see that Jack had no intentions of letting him get away so soon.  
  
"Shalashaska?" Desperado asked as he turned to face Ocelot.  
  
"It…would be nice to have you around longer," he said, and Desperado nodded.  
  
"Where am I needed, Mr. Ripper?" Jack seemed amused by the way he had been addressed. Ocelot called him by the same name. It was rubbing off.  
  
"We are to be expecting guests," Jack said. "If you could…take a post in the Spire. If you see anything, contact us by radio." Jack went around behind his desk and pulled from one of the many drawers, a small radio transmitter. He handed it to Desperado who looked back with a penetrating look in his eyes.  
  
"Yes sir," he said.  
  
"Please," Ocelot said, "could you give us a moment, good friend?" Desperado nodded and started out of the room, closing the door behind him. Ocelot turned to Jack, somewhat disbelieving, somewhat enraged. "What do you want with him?"  
  
Jack chuckled. "Oh, 'Shalashaska' it is nice to see you sticking up for your friends. I didn't know you had it in you." Ocelot pointed threateningly at Jack who calmly took a seat and propped his feet up on the desk, beside the Perfect Cell.  
  
"Do not make me your enemy! I do not want it, and neither do you. Now why do you want him to stay?" Ocelot's voice rose.  
  
"I am not letting him go so soon… I have reason to believe Snake has also found his way into the building. I heard some racket coming from above, and Turret has yet to respond to my calls. If he has fallen, certainly Snake has freed Jack from confinement. He is somewhere in this building…"  
  
"Why are you afraid of him?" Ocelot questioned. Jack's eyes moved to the floor, attempting to avoid direct eye contact with Ocelot.  
  
"You don't understand," Jack started, but Ocelot stopped him.  
  
"Your identity from here on out does not matter. As soon as word circulates through the government, Jack will be history! If he manages to survive this account, he'll be imprisoned immediately!" Ocelot stated loudly.  
  
"I never liked the name Jack," he said. "I think I will be…Rogue. That seems suitable enough," Jack (or Rogue) said. Ocelot grinned.  
  
"It is surprising that you have the leadership skills that you do," Ocelot claimed. "Clones do not normally possess such advanced character traits." Rogue dropped his feet to the floor and stretched. He went around the desk and before closing the platinum suitcase he looked up at Ocelot.  
  
"Do you know the code?" He asked. Ocelot nodded.  
  
"128538," Ocelot recited and Rogue clamped the top down, locks engaging as he did. The Perfect Cell was secured. 


	11. A Living Miracle

Chapter Eleven: A Living Miracle  
  
  
  
Ocelot stepped out of the office, followed by Rogue who closed the door behind them. Desperado was standing against the wall a little way down the hall, and upon noticing them he walked over, a smile of satisfaction spread wide across his face.  
  
"Mr. Ripper," Desperado started, "there is one last thing I would like to inform you of, regarding the Perfect Cell." Rogue looked up at him and smiled.  
  
"Do call me Rogue from now on," he said and Desperado nodded.  
  
"The Perfect Cell is basically non-disposable," Desperado said. "The energy that it holds cannot degrade or deteriorate no matter how many times it is used. There is only one exception for this."  
  
"And that is?" Ocelot entered the conversation, the urge to not be an outsider driving him to interrupt.  
  
"According to the notes I scavenged -- written by Socrates -- and the basic theory he had explained, when the Perfect Cell and the Hell Cell do indeed react, the two are consumed. Of course, this is remains only theory, but assuming that the structure for both the Hell Cell and the Perfect Cell are correct – by correct I mean, parallel to how Socrates believes them to be – then when they do indeed fuse, the outcome should be no more or less than a complete vaporization of all matter in the effected range."  
  
"Tell me," Rogue started, "Where did you find all of this information? And how did you acquire the Perfect Cell?" Desperado seemed almost eager to answer anything and everything regarding the Cells, and without hesitation, he proceeded.  
  
"As you can see, I am no scientist," Desperado snickered, "but I have always been somewhat overtaken by the theories Socrates introduced before his untimely death. A man I had worked with years back now has employment at a lab in New Hampshire. When he had first taken the job, he got in touch with me, knowing that I enjoyed Socrates' work, and told me of a project he was working on."  
  
"Apparently, a small team, comprised of him and other colleagues at the institute, had taken an active role in trying to 'bring back' his work. So, they did research, managed to recover some very secret files, and built the Cell using theories, scribbles, and experiment notes written by Socrates himself. For a reasonable fee, I managed to get my hands on it. Until today, it has been no more than a decoration in my home…"  
  
Rogue chuckled and then put out his hand for Desperado who shook it. "It has been good doing business with you," he said, and Desperado smiled. Rogue turned to Ocelot. "Would you like to escort your friend to the Spire? Or would you rather join me for the operation?" Ocelot looked at Desperado, disappointingly.  
  
"It's all right," Desperado said, before Ocelot could open his mouth. "I can find my way. I will not leave before saying farewell, Shalashaska," he turned away from the two and started off down the hall, heading for the stairs. Ocelot looked up and smiled as Desperado went off, but his smile was somewhat awkward. It wasn't the one he put on when he watched death or heard death, but one of true admiration.  
  
"Well," Rogue interrupted the moment, "we should be going. No doubt they are waiting for us to arrive."  
  
"Yes," Ocelot replied, his mind wavering, "I should retrieve the body. I will meet you in the Operation Room in no more than three minutes."  
  
"All right," Rogue said. Ocelot made a gesture of good-bye and then started down the hall for a small, cold room where the body was being held. "Ocelot," Rogue called, causing him to stop and turn back. "Why DON'T we just use one of the other hostages for the operation? Surely just one of them is expendable!" Ocelot grinned.  
  
"This one, Rogue, is special." Rogue nodded in return as if he had heard Ocelot say that one time too many, and then went off on his way.  
  
  
  
When he came to the operation room, he stopped outside the doors and took a large, deep breath before entering. When he did walk inside, his presence woke three men who were sitting around the fairly cramped room. They all wore long white overcoats and scrubs beneath them. Scattered about the room were medical tools and very advanced equipment. It was rather obvious that they were about to do the first test of the Perfect Cell.  
  
"Sir!" they cried as he entered the room, the suitcase in his right hand making him feel warm and cozy in the light of the room. As soon as their eyes caught it, they began to feel light-headed and their legs became weak and feeble. "Do you…have the Cell?" One of them asked, and Rogue nodded before lifting the suitcase onto a cleared table on the ride side of the room.  
  
"1…28…5…38," he said out loud as he punched in the key code. As the suitcase's many locks disengaged, the three men hurried to Rogue's side, their eyes open wide in anticipation. Then, he lifted the suitcase open and the glow of the Cell seemed so tempting and captivating. They gasped.  
  
"Ocelot will be here with the specimen soon," Rogue said as he stepped away from the Cell, giving the men a closer look. At that, the door to their backs opened and in rolled a body beneath a thin, white sheet, and Ocelot who pushed the mobile bed along.  
  
"You weren't waiting long, were you?" he asked, a wide grin stretched across his aging face. Rogue shook his head as Ocelot wheeled the body into the center of the room where there was still space. The three men turned, swiftly to address Ocelot as he entered.  
  
"Sir!" they called and he waved them down.  
  
"You know what to do, right?" Rogue asked, and the three men nodded.  
  
"Leave it to us," one of them said, and Rogue started out of the room, stopping at the door for Ocelot to follow.  
  
"Just one moment," Ocelot insisted, and Rogue nodded, then walked outside. The three men entitled with the responsibility of successfully using the Perfect Cell looked at him questioningly. Ocelot moved over to them, and whispered into the ear of the one who looked smartest and then, after making sure the man understood, he too exited the room, a sort of eerie look in his eyes.  
  
"How exciting," Rogue said to Ocelot as he stepped into the hall.  
  
"Yes," Ocelot said. He seemed somewhat jumpy himself. "Once this is done, we will finally be able to achieve our ultimate goal. Socrates…will be returned to life." Rogue nodded slowly, but in all reality, he had no true goal himself. He was there to help oversee the project, and to get rid of Jack.  
  
  
  
"Start time is 1:13 A.M." one of the men said. They had all put on their surgical masks, and had all ready cut a small hole in the sheet covering the 'specimen.' Quietly, the three moved about the room, acquiring tools and snipping things beneath the sheet. Minutes of subtle work took place before one of them moved over to the table where the Perfect Cell lay in wait.  
  
Slowly, one of them delicately lifted the octagonal cage from the suitcase and stepped over to the operating table with caution. Hands trembling, the man held the cage over the small hole in the sheet and with a quick squeeze on the flat top of the cage, the bottom disappeared into thin air and the Perfect Cell hovered downward, slowly.  
  
Its movement was awkward, for it had not fallen like any normal object would, but descended, lightly. The three watched, not moving the cage from where they held it. Then, as it disappeared beneath the white sheet, a blast of gold illuminated beneath it, and the Perfect Cell shot up into the octagonal cage like a bat out of hell, and the bottom of the cage reappeared into thin air.  
  
The three men were without words, but simply stood and watched. There was no movement for more than a minute, but in a swift thrust upward, the body jolted from beneath the sheet and reached to the right, grabbing hold of one of the men's arm. The 'specimen' jerked it to the side and a squeal of pain burst from his mouth.  
  
Another blurred movement took place and in an instant the man to the right of the operation table was dead and as he fell, so did the octagonal cage. As it fell through the air, the 'specimen' jumped from the table, found a familiar 'something' strapped about his back and pulled a long, shining blade before him. Two quick strikes and all three men had fallen, their blood staining the white walls of the Operation Room.  
  
Then, the cage hit the floor. At the same moment, in rushed Rogue, followed by Revolver Ocelot. And there, standing before them, was a living miracle… 


	12. Radicals Abound

Chapter Twelve: Radicals Abound  
  
  
  
The cage bounced upwards, and retreated to the opposite side of the room as Ocelot and Rogue stopped before the 'specimen.'  
  
He stood there, composed and calm. An intricate suit covered his entire body, and where there had once been a hole bore into his stomach, there was not a scratch, scathe, or scar. Untouched and ready for battle, the figure stood, its sword stretched out only inches from Rogue's chin. Between where its eyes would be was a large red circle that gleamed with a pulsating light. It shot a look to Ocelot and let out a cool, short laugh.  
  
Ocelot was smiling as he watched it, but in an instant, the sword was upon him and his smile turned to a grim and nearly frightened scowl. From his holster he pulled a revolver and as he aimed it toward the man, the sword struck upward throwing the glimmering, shiny gun into the air. The sword swung again. Rogue jumped back, falling into the hall as Ocelot pulled himself away as coolly as he could, and worked his hand down for his other revolver.  
  
But, when he raised it, the figure had gone. All that remained was a trail of crimson light following its gleaming red eye. Ocelot jumped into the hall to see Rogue regaining his balance and to see the man scurry off in the other direction, blood dripping from the blade it held in its one hand.  
  
But, before it had reached the end of the hall, the three heard a beep and in an instant, doors in the man's direction opened and out stepped Solid Snake. He did not realize, until he turned to his right, that he had intruded on anything, but when he saw the man standing there before him, his sword touching the floor, and then Rogue and Revolver Ocelot not much further away than the man, his eyes grew large and a look is disbelief befell him.  
  
"What the hell?!" Snake questioned. Everything had stopped. Ocelot's revolver was aimed at both Snake and the other man, Rogue was watching in awe, and the man that stood before them all cocked his head awkwardly at the sound of Snake's voice. "Frank?!"  
  
It was. Frank Jaeger. The soldier of Zanzibar. The Ninja of Shadow Moses. The living miracle…He had died; was crushed beneath the overpowering weight of Metal Gear Rex. But, somehow, he was there. Standing before them. His glory returned. His menace beheld. He was alive.  
  
He did not answer Snake, but looked at him so strangely instead, as if he could not see him. As if the voice had come out of the wind, or from the depths of his own mind. But, there was no doubt that Snake was standing there. The Ninja…he could not…remember him.  
  
A shot rang out from behind the Ninja and in a movement quicker than the eye could tell, he was off his feet. The bullet that left Ocelot's revolver dodged Snake by less than an inch and they all waited for the outcome. There was a shatter against the wall behind Snake, and as they watched, the Ninja began to "move" through the air.  
  
Not once did he touch the ground. He was…flying almost, but his movements were jerky and appeared most unordinary. This way and that, he went as Ocelot continued to unload his revolver into the air where the small bullets were doomed to hit nothing.  
  
Then, the Ninja landed, crumpled almost into a ball on the floor. They all heard the empty clicks of Ocelot's revolver and the Ninja used the time to coolly jump up before Snake and look him in the eye. Closely, he watched, and listened to Snake's breathing. The memory of him was sitting on the edge of a knife. Push it one way and it would fall from his reach, and push it the other, something might react. But, there was another click as Ocelot reloaded his weapon and the Ninja bolted up and away, into the room at the end of the hall. He disappeared.  
  
Snake stood there, unarmed and without any chances were he to go up against the two. Seeing Rogue, he was mesmerized. Was it Jack? Or…was it Jack? "Damn!" he proclaimed and jumped into the elevator as the doors closed behind him. Ocelot threw down his revolver, his face strangely happy as opposed to upset. Rogue looked up at him as they heard the elevator begin to move. Two floors it went, before they heard a beep.  
  
"That," Rogue began, enraged, "was your 'specimen'?!" Ocelot's face quickly morphed, taking on a look of hate. His eyes were sharp, his lips curled, and his hands began to clench into fists.  
  
"Damn them!" he cried. "The wrong body…damn!" Ocelot turned away from Rogue and stepped into the Operation Room. Rogue followed behind, still upset and enraged. The walls were stained with terribly dark blood. The sight was like one from a painting. The red was splashed crazily about the room, the glow of the lights shattered and refracted. It brought back memories…  
  
"Ocelot! He killed three men!" Rogue pursued. "Three men! He did not even to try!" Ocelot did not move his eyes from the walls that he scanned so closely.  
  
"They were unarmed," Ocelot said. "At least we know that it worked," he began to trail off as he moved over to where the octagonal cage sat in the corner of the room. Rogue followed, his rage still present.  
  
"How?! How did he make it in here wearing that…suit?! That sword?! Where did he get them?! Ocelot! How did he have that weapon?!" Rogue was incessant, and Ocelot tried to ignore him but could not. He picked up the cage and set it in the suitcase before closing it tightly to hear the locks engage.  
  
"You…suspect me," he said as he turned and walked past Rogue, out into the hallway, stopping by the door to claim his second revolver, which the Ninja had inconveniently knocked from his grasp. Rogue did not fail to trace his footsteps.  
  
"Ocelot," he began, almost apologetically, "I do not…but HOW?! It was not coincidence!" Ocelot swiftly turned back to him, his revolver set in the soft area beneath Rogue's chin.  
  
"What we do now," Ocelot said, "is for you to decide. I will prepare for Socrates' operation. When I am ready, I will contact you by radio." Ocelot said before dropping his gun and holstering it. He began to walk off toward the stairs as Rogue watched.  
  
Quickly, he held his radio to his mouth and in it yelled, "Strengthen security! Three radicals are abound! Do not stop until all have been killed!" He looked at Ocelot. "What about our money?! They will not pay for HIM!" Ocelot continued to walk and as he did, he answered.  
  
"Yes they will, my friend. Don't you worry," and he was gone. 


	13. Uncertainty

Chapter Thirteen: Uncertainty  
  
  
  
The air was still. Like a duck on a pond, above the water everything seemed normal. But beneath…those legs were churning a mile a minute. Chaos was beginning to ensue at Hell's Outpost, and as the story unfolded, the threat became more and more clear. With Revolver Ocelot and Rogue at the head of the operation, Philosophy was beginning to inspire quite a fright. Otacon and Farrel were on their way to the facilities by way of helicopter, Solid Snake and Jack were creating trouble for the terrorists, and Frank Jeager (the Ninja) had somehow returned. All had happened in less than four hours.  
  
  
  
Snake stood, his mind on fire, his hands clenching tightly as he thought. In the emptiness of the elevator, he could finally stop to think. Generally, Snake was a rather contrary figure. Naturally, he found his patience and emotions on the battlefield, and that was where he expressed them. With the noises of war playing like beautiful symphonies, he could think, and it was the emptiness and the quiet of the room that, opposite his tendencies, allowed him to think.  
  
Everything was crazy. It had been only months ago that he was last exposed to the almost routine craziness in his life. He was an unusual man to come upon, for his body and mind could meet unbelievable heights, but it was almost too overwhelming; everything he went through, that is.  
  
He slammed his fist against the wall of the elevator and it shook. With an unnerving halt on the fourth floor, he composed himself, his mind still without sleep, and waited for the metal doors of the elevator to slide open, halls of endless white sitting before him.  
  
"Beep!" the elevator blurted and the doors screeched aside, their noise alerting something not far from him. Snake's train of thought quickly shifted as he stepped into the small area that opened into the hallway stretched from left to right in front of him. His hands were shaking. Not because he was afraid, but because he was uncertain. Death was something he had stared in the face many times before, and it was something he had eluded, something he had fought back against. He was not afraid of death, and as he peered around the corner, he knew it. The thought was not conscious, for the actions he took were fairly normal, but the thought was there, hidden deep within his mind.  
  
"Stop!" A familiar voice called as Snake whipped his head to the right. There, standing only feet from him was Jack. He had obviously stripped from the clothes he wore earlier, and had most likely been wearing what he did then, beneath. A tight body suit was covering all but his face. It appeared much like the one Snake had last seen him in, during the Sons of Liberty incident. On his face was a smile. "Snake…it's been a while."  
  
Snake loosened up and turned to him, his hands no longer shaking as fitfully as before. "Jack," he said in a soft, muffled voice. Jack looked back as he holstered the gun he was holding up: a SOCOM.  
  
"Don't bother to tell me about Olga. I know…I shouldn't be here," he said as he took a step closer.  
  
"You're damn right you shouldn't be here! Her kid…if you die…" Snake retorted, his anger returning, but in a different form.  
  
"I told you not to bother," Jack snickered. "You were right," he patted his SOCOM, "this is a good gun." Snake remembered the showdown with Turret. He remembered the delivery boy.  
  
"So you ARE Jack," Snake grunted and turned away, looking down the hall to the left. Jack walked to his side, shooting a quick glance down the right hall to make sure that they were alone. "He your brother? A clone?" Snake asked, not turning to face Jack as he spoke.  
  
"A clone," he said. "Like they did to you, he's trying to get me framed. I can't understand why, but that doesn't really matter. I guess they just…want me out of the way."  
  
"That…or Ocelot might be having second thoughts," Snake said as he stepped over to the wall, sitting down against it. Jack looked at him oddly.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean? Second thoughts? About what?" He asked, taking a seat by Snake.  
  
"The disc I recovered back in the Arsenal incident," Snake began, "Otacon managed to dig up all the intel we needed, but when he researched the names of the twelve men detailed on the disc…they came up dead. All over 100 years ago." Then, Jack experienced the pain of lies all over again. The uncertainty, the deception, and the confusion consumed him.  
  
"How is that?" Jack questioned. Snake shook his head.  
  
"No idea, but Ocelot might be wondering whether that's true or not. If you are framed, or killed, either way he would eventually find Olga's child. Dead or alive: then he might know for sure." Snake paused.  
  
"Wait…if you had the disc, how would he have any idea?" Jack turned his head, watching as Snake thought.  
  
"Philanthropy is," he began, "not the most secure organization. Things get misplaced, and fall into the wrong hands. It could have found its way to Ocelot. And if it did, this might be just one more setup to ruin another guy's life. This time…yours." Snake slid up the wall, his body rested: his mind still running rampant. "Join the club," he muttered as he began to walk off. Jack stood, his heart heavy, and his head low. Snake had suffered the worst fate. He had lost his identity. He was alive, but in a way…dead.  
  
Suddenly, before Snake could turn around, and before Jack could call out to him, every light on the fourth floor dimmed. It's light cut in half, a muffled, tainted voice came from the shadows. "Hello," it said. Snake squinted to see something emerge from hallway only paces ahead.  
  
Turret.  
  
Sluggishly stalking out from the shadows, he stumbled. Clenched tightly in his hand was his long, sharp knife, the only living light gathering on its tip. A frightening grin was pulled over his face, and both Jack and Snake looked on in awe. A large black and red scar sat on his chest, etching his encounter with Snake in him for a lifetime to follow.  
  
"You are…frightened?" Turret asked, his feeble legs carrying him closer with increasing steadiness. Neither Snake nor Jack answered. "To frightened to…speak?" he scowled. The shadows cast by the absence of the once blinding light, made his all ready frightening face seem all the more fierce and scornful. "You thought…I had…died?" he asked, his breath holding out only for him to take quick, rapid gasps of air.  
  
"Actually, yes," Snake said. Jack began to move toward him, but before he could move any more, three thick rope-like bands bound him around the arms. Then, something fell down upon him. "Fourth floor," it said, speaking into a radio. Its voice was high and cold.  
  
Little Mary.  
  
Her stringy red hair fell over Jack's face as he struggled to be released. Snake looked over his shoulder, keeping one eye on Turret. "I don't want them here," Turret said and Little Mary cocked her head to the side. "The soldiers are of no use to me…I…want them for…myself," he gasped, taking in enough air to continue. "Mary…call them off." Little Mary raised the radio from her hip again, taking it in her hand and holding it to her painted ears.  
  
"Never mind," she said. "False alarm." Turret smirked and she returned the device to her hip, where it seemed to stick. "Do you wish to keep this one too?" she asked. Jack continued to pull and wrestle with the cable that bound him.  
  
Turret thought. "He may…stay, I suppose. He is not…needed, but I can…find something for him…to do."  
  
"If you do not need him," Little Mary started, "then let me take care of him. He is rather cute." Jack's arms began to wail furiously through the air, now, certainly frightened by her comment. Turret scowled.  
  
"There is another…that the boss speaks of…find him, and kill…him," Turret coughed, blood dripping over his lower lip. Little Mary nodded, hesitantly, and pulled from nowhere, a series of thick, white strings that worked their way around Jack like a spider web, binding him there. He struggled for only moments before realizing the futility of his actions.  
  
Then, Little Mary smiled. "Good day," she said, before disappearing into the roof of the room. Jack shook his head in confusion. He was lost.  
  
Turret and Snake were left, their eyes not wavering a single inch from each other. Turret had stopped walking forward, and the two found themselves no more than two meters apart. His knife twirling in his fingers, its light flashing around the hall, he grinned.  
  
"Now," he began, "we play another game. This time…a little different." He slipped a small device out of his back pocket and held it up for Snake to observe. "This…is a Comm (short for Communicator. It resembles a Palm Pilot). I have linked it…to the building's various status points…Using it, I can do this," he paused to push on the screen with his thumb. Suddenly, the lights fell darker. He smiled, and even with the faintest lighting, his smile stood out like the sun. "You see?" Snake simply watched.  
  
"So, we will play a game. Hide and Seek…it is called. Fairly simple, eh?" Snake watched. "With one more touch…the fourth floor will be in a black out."  
  
"Leaving me with a crazed lunatic," Snake said, being careful not to mention that he was unarmed. Turret grinned once more.  
  
"Precisely," he coughed. "The ultimate test of wit. Now…give me your NVG's. There will be…no cheating in my game…Snake," he said and Snake looked down at the goggles hung on his belt, dangling behind him. He pulled them from their belt loop and took one look at them before tossing them over to Turret. He caught them with his free hand and slung them over his head, letting them dangle about his neck.  
  
"Are you ready, Snake?" Turret asked, but Snake must have taken it for a rhetorical question for, like always, he did not answer. "Good…then, Snake…its lights out." At that, a faint beep sounded and the lights failed.  
  
Natural light was almost non-existent. On the fourth level, the lights were placed at such angles that they did not shine inside, and the time presented there be no natural source of light other than the moon's faint glow. To Snake, Turret, and Jack, the floor was no brighter than bright enough for them to see their hands just inches from their faces. Only when Turret was upon them would they realize he was near.  
  
"Go on, Snake," Turret said, his voice now seeming to echo through the halls, causing him to seem even more distant. "Do not just stand there…go on." Snake took the advice and quickly, without making too much noise, darted off in Turret's direction, seeing as Jack was blocking the hall up he other way. Passing by him quickly, Snake continued to run from memory.  
  
A few moments later, he hit the wall as hard as anything. He fell back, his face becoming red, and stopped to listen. Footsteps were drawing near, but he could not tell, now, where he was. He had not hit glass, so he was not at the end of the building. Certainly, it would have to go left or right from there. He felt to the left and when his fingers sensed a cold, coarse wall, he pulled away and began to move off in the other direction, no longer with speed but with silence. He could not be detected or else he would be dead.  
  
It went on like that for a while. Jack waited miserably; trying to listen for the growing footsteps that rapidly entered and exited his hearing range as time passed. Time…such a vicious thing.  
  
"It has gone on like this for almost an hour now, Snake," Turret said without halting in his speech. He had begun to heal. "Do you wish to continue, or do you wish to die?" Turret waited, almost hoping that Snake would answer, but he expected he would not.  
  
"Die," a voice said. It was Snake. He was standing in the corner of the room in which Turret also waited, and it seemed as if he knew something his opponent did not. It almost disappointed Turret to hear Snake call out for death and it was obvious that while it was growing tiresome, the game was something he did not wish to end.  
  
"As you wish," Turret said, and when he went over to where the voice had emanated, he lifted his knife in the air and with a quick downward slash, he swung it. It met nothing but air, and to his confusion he regained his stance, but before he could do anymore, he reached to his back pocket and upon noticing the absence of his Comm he swiftly turned. Snake was holding it beside his face, its faint but noticeable glow sweeping over his facial features with light. "You," Turret began, but before he knew it, Snake's hand was dug into the tender part of his chest. He wailed with pain.  
  
"Gah!" he yelled, and Snake pulled away only to return with a kick across his face. Using the glow of the Comm, he watched as Turret fell onto the floor. Blood started to pour from his chest like a terrible rainstorm, the wound having been gouged at. Snake threw his foot down on Turret's right hand and he retrieved the long, silver knife from where it now lay on the tiled floor.  
  
"Game over," Snake muttered and with a quick swipe, Turret fell on his back, the pain no longer there. He had died. There was no remorse in Snake's body. He did not wish to take back what he had done. There was no reason to do a thing like that. He had meant to do it, and if he were to feel remorse later, he would not have committed the act.  
  
He stepped out of the room, his eyes as wide as ever, and his hand tightly clenching the spongy handle of the knife. Finding his way back to Jack by light of the Comm, he cautiously made his way back to where he had started and upon bumping into Jack, he stopped.  
  
"Snake?!" Jack cried.  
  
"Yea, don't worry," Snake replied, and Jack relaxed as the cables began to loosen and then fall from his sides. He brushed his arms and turned to Snake with a smile. "Wanna smoke?" he asked, and by light of the Comm, he saw Jack nod.  
  
  
  
The two sat at the foot of the wall, their cigarettes tipped on the edges of their lower lips. Snake held his lighter up to the tip of his "cig" and held the flame there, letting it lick at the white end until a separate flame began to burn in its place. Relieving his mouth of the smoke, he removed the cig from his lips and lightly blew the grayness from his throat. He replaced his cig and held the lighter up to Jack, only pulling it away when his too had lit.  
  
"I didn't know you smoked," Snake insisted and Jack began to choke on the fiery air. Then, after a moment, he returned, his eyes filling with tears.  
  
"Well, time isn't on my side right now," he said. "If I die in two minutes, I will be happy and proud to know that I've tried just one more thing."  
  
"Watch out," Snake said. "If you live, it'll grow into a nasty habit," he snickered and put away his lighter. Jack slowly adjusted to the idea of smoking and the two continued to converse amongst each other. "So…you know what's going on here?"  
  
"Yea," Jack coughed.  
  
"So?" Snake pursued, but he could barely see Jack shake his head.  
  
"I'll tell ya later."  
  
"I thought you were gonna die in two minutes," Snake laughed. Jack looked at him.  
  
"Yea…you know what drives me crazy?" Jack asked. Snake grunted, and he took that as a sign to continue. "That element of uncertainty…when you never really know what's happening. It's in everything we do, but I still like doing it…I don't know why."  
  
"That's why," Snake answered, letting another river of smoke to spew from between his lips.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The uncertainty…that's why you keep going. It's dangerous…but it's thrilling."  
  
  
  
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:  
  
Time is an odd thing. It constantly changes sides. One moment, you have twenty minutes to reach your work, before being lectured as always by your pompous boss, and the next, you find yourself all ready late to a business meeting in Los Angeles. The consequences in both of these examples are generally alike, and would most likely not prove to be overly threatening, but in the case of Solid Snake, there is much to be done and so little time to do it. And the consequences are…let's say…somewhat more harsh…  
  
While Snake does not have a set deadline, in this particular situation, it seems even more dangerous. He has left the time up to those he does not trust, Philosophy, and only when they have decided to end things will the time be up. In a situation such as this, uncertainly plays the role of the main antagonist, and in every Metal Gear story we have ever played, watched, or drooled over, the word uncertainty has created quite a problem.  
  
Uncertainty…such a terribly open word…in the Metal Gear series has proven to be, somewhat, the element that makes the story turn, or the clock tick. However one wishes to describe it, uncertainty is a key to letting everything in a Metal Gear story work. For it to be Metal Gear, it has to have twists. And the only way for there to be twists is by implementing a certain level of uncertainty, fueled most commonly by deception and lies.  
  
Keep a look out for examples of this throughout the story. Happy reading!  
  
  
  
-- Espresso 


	14. A Gun Never Lies

Chapter Fourteen: A Gun Never Lies  
  
  
  
The two were completely alone in the darkness of the fourth floor, the only light they had being the glow of the Comm and the fiery ends of their cigarettes. Turret had been laid to rest, and they were all that was left in those empty, dark hallways. They were the only ones left.  
  
Snake lifted the Comm off of where it sat, on his knee, and looked over the data, trying to make some sense of the buttons and controls that were drawn beneath the plastic screen. "You wanna try?" he asked, holding it out for Jack, who cocked his head to the side and then grasped it in his hand. He looked over it for seconds, which became minutes, and for quite a while, the two sat there, not shifting the slightest bit.  
  
"Just try a few," Snake suggested, and Jack sighed. Beeps and burs emanated from the small device as Jack continued to randomly click his finger down on the screen, activating many different things that he could not even think to fathom. After pressing every button on the screen, he set it down.  
  
"Nothin," he said. The news disappointed neither of them, for the darkness seemed to sooth them, and it was true that neither of them would ever wish to see those blinding overhead lights shining down on them like spotlights sitting only inches away. And so, they sat. And they waited.  
  
"So…" Snake began, searching for conversation. "Anything new?" He asked, his attempt vainly pathetic. They had sat beside each other for more than a half an hour, and obviously nothing had changed. The lights were off. Turret was dead. And they were alone. NOTHING had changed.  
  
Jack looked over at him and snickered, then pulled the cigarette from between his lips and scratched its end on the floor beside him, making sure that the light was out and the heat had subdued. Two lights remained on.  
  
At this point, Snake too had grown tired of the same cigarette and it had failed to continue burning, for it was no more than a stump of paper and nicotine in his mouth. He desired another, but did not pursue. He set his cigarette on the floor, and as he stood, he dropped his foot on it, putting out any flame that was left. One light remained.  
  
"What do we do now?" Jack asked, still sitting against the wall, his head falling between his legs in boredom. Snake peered where he thought the halls went and then closed his eyes. "Snake?" Snake drew his index finger and held it up to hush Jack as they both waited in 'nearly' silence. Something was nearing their position. Something loud, and it was not inside, but instead…  
  
At that, Snake's Codec began to ring loudly in his ear, for the normal absence of sound had somewhat spoiled him. He did not move from where he stood, but touched his index finger to his ear and waited. A welcome voice filled his mind. "Snake?" It was Otacon.  
  
"Yea? What is it?" Snake asked, his feet beginning to move under him, taking him in the direction of the glass windows that he only sensed were ahead of him.  
  
"Do you see me?" Otacon asked. Snake stopped oddly in the hall, analyzing what he had heard him say.  
  
"You're coming in a chopper?" He understood. The noise began to amplify, but only slightly before it pulled away into the distance again. Snake waited for a reply, listening to the other things in the background.  
  
"Yes, you hear us then?"  
  
"Yea," Snake answered. The conversation was stale and short-lived, both of them ceased to talk as the sounds from Otacon's end became increasingly jumbled.  
  
"Can you get on the roof?" Otacon asked, cutting through the heavy silence that lingered over them. Snake continued forward again.  
  
"You're gonna land that thing? Here?!" Snake did not approve of the idea. Not one bit, but it seemed obvious that there were no other places to land. The terrain was too rocky, too random for them to find a reasonable landing spot besides a proper helipad.  
  
"Can you get to the roof, Snake?" Otacon asked again, his voice almost demanding this time.  
  
"I don't know. The lights are out over here, and I didn't notice any way to get up there earlier," Snake answered, hearing a disappointed sigh come from Otacon.  
  
"There's an elevator shaft on the third floor," he began. "High-level security…you can't get in that way…what floor ARE you on?"  
  
"Fourth. We should be right under it," Snake answered, bumping into the glass wall. He rubbed his face only momentarily before straining his eyes to look beyond the glossy plate.  
  
"There should be a ventilation system in the ceiling…hold on," he requested and Snake waited where he stood. He tried to squint…to see out, but there was nothing but a vast sea of black laid out before him. Whatever he did, he found himself trapped there. He turned to Jack.  
  
"Try the elevator," he said. Jack quickly retreated to where he remember the elevator being, and stepped to the right of the doors, moving his hands over the wall, trying to find the button to engage in movement. He felt it, but when he pushed on it, nothing moved. Then, a sound began to boom around them as emergency lights flashed on above.  
  
"SECURITY BREACH ON LEVEL FOUR," a loud voice said. It came over some sort of intercom, but when it sounded, Snake jerked back to Jack, holding out his arms in confusion.  
  
"How the hell?!" (You can guess who said that.)  
  
Jack looked back at him with a similar look of obscurity, his face screwed up. "Must've been Turret…maybe he set the whole floor on emergency lockdown!" Jack yelled to Snake, trying to fight the repetitive cries of the intercom and the deafening ring of the bell. Otacon came back to the conversation.  
  
"Did you set off an alarm?!" he yelled.  
  
"Sorry," Snake replied, hurrying over to Jack, provided he could now see with the flashing of the emergency lights.  
  
"Damn…okay, Snake, listen. There's an access panel to the ventilation system somewhere in the hallway by the elevator." Otacon waited for Snake to respond in some way.  
  
"Hold on, Otacon," Snake returned as he began to scan the ceiling with his eyes. There, not far ahead of him, was the access panel. He touched his ear. "Found it," he responded.  
  
"Good. Now, you're going to have to get up there."  
  
"How do I do that?" Snake asked.  
  
"You figure out the procedure. I just know the route," Otacon answered, making Snake rather frustrated. "Once you're in the vents, you need to make your way to the right, and then, left at the next intersection. Eventually, you'll see a vent cover above you, through which the purified air is released and recycled into the environment. Push the vent cover aside and you're on the roof. Got it?" Snake took a moment before he was sure that he understood the procedure.  
  
"Got it," he finally answered, and Otacon smiled on the other end.  
  
"We wont be able to hover out here for long, and Philosophy might get suspicious of whatever sounds we're making. You need to hurry. As soon as you move aside the vent cover up to the helipad, contact me."  
  
Snake nodded.  
  
"Yea…see ya soon," Snake said, and the conversation ended. The platform of the elevator began to descend to the lower levels and when Snake turned back to Jack, questions arose.  
  
"Who was that?" Jack asked as Snake passed him, his eyes set on the access panel ahead.  
  
"Otacon. We have to be on the roof for him, fast," Snake answered as he stopped below the panel, sorting through his mind in pursuit of a way to get up and into the vents.  
  
"Is anyone with him?" Jack asked, and Snake randomly answered.  
  
"Farrel," he said. Jack almost fell backward, but managed to keep steady, his mouth hung open.  
  
"Farrel?! You know about him?! What's he doing here?!" Jack cried. Snake immediately stopped, and slowly turned to him, his face stern and his mind racing.  
  
"What? Who is he?" Snake asked, an obvious fear for Otacon lurching in his stomach. Jack's mouth opened, but no words came out. Then, he hurried up to Snake upon noticing the access panel and he quickly changed the subject.  
  
"We need to get to the roof, let's hurry," he said. Snake grabbed him by the arm and stared into his face. Jack wanted to look away, but Snake wouldn't let him.  
  
"Is Otacon in danger?" he asked.  
  
Jack's eyes suddenly shot right back at Snake. "No, no! Let's just get on the roof. We need to hurry." The moment was tense, and as the two stood there, Jack trying to formulate a plan of action, and Snake trying to figure out what was going on that he didn't know about, the elevator behind them beeped. Both of them looked to it, and when the metal-bared doors slid aside, their hearts stopped.  
  
Out stepped seven soldiers, dressed in the same odd camouflage as all the others, carrying with them similar AK7u's. Two of them were equipped with M4A1's and another with a small UMP 450. Heavily armed, the seven pivoted to their left and quickly raised their guns upon taking sight of Jack and Snake who both dodged around the corner before a single bullet left a single gun.  
  
Hitting the floor roughly, the two scurried onto their feet and darted down another hall, trying to formulate a new plan of action as they went. Somehow, with seven soldiers behind them, a ceiling above them, and a maze of halls to move through, halls that they have never been in, and halls that the soldiers following them had most likely memorized, they had to reach the roof and safely escort Otacon and Farrel back into the building, or anywhere for that matter.  
  
The soldiers could be heard spreading about the halls and rooms of the fourth floor, their calls and orders being shouted back and forth as they closed in. Snake and Jack could do nothing but continue on their way, turning another corner only to hear the shattering glass erupt behind them. The enemy was closing in.  
  
Jack felt along the holster straps bound vertically about his chest. He had a SOCOM, a Single Action Hammerli 280, and strung over his back was a dirtied FAMAS that appeared badly damaged (no doubt wrestled away from one of the tattered soldiers positioned at Hell's Outpost under the command of Rogue and Ocelot). Quickly, without halting, Jack managed to pull from his holster, the SOCOM he was equipped with, and as they ran, tossed it ahead of Snake. Two soldiers came around the corner behind them, and as they readied their weapons, and aimed at the two, Jack threw his FAMAS around his body and caught hold of it when it bounced from his chest. As he turned, Snake caught the SOCOM in one hand, and twirled around as the enemy soldiers fired.  
  
A torrent of speeding iron flew past Snake's shoulder, and before he had time to balance himself or compose himself, he was pulling the trigger of his SOCOM furiously, firing bullet after bullet of death at the enemies ahead. Jack, too, was taking no time to look good. His finger tightened down on the trigger of his FAMAS, and as he moved to the side, he saw both guards grab at their chests as rivers of blood trickled from them, staining their camouflage. They fell forward, their bodies sprawled out and their guns toppling aside. They had died, and behind them was a shattered wall, the biting cold air blowing in through it.  
  
Snake hit the wall and pushed back off to regain his steadiness. The shattered wall ahead of them was like an omen, a sign of hope, and a passage to where they were headed. The surface of the roof was only five feet above the ceiling of the fourth floor, and if they could get outside, maybe they could make their way up the side of the building. It was only five feet…not too far, but in contrast, the fall to earth was much larger in comparison.  
  
"We'll go up the side," Snake said, lost in thought. Jack looked at him, following his eyes to the broken glass of the wall before them. Then, he looked back at Snake and nodded, showing his support. "We need a wire…or rope. Something."  
  
There was a clatter at the other end of the hall and Jack turned in an instant, firing off another magazine of his FAMAS, and taking down another soldier. He let the empty magazine fall, and from a belt of ammo, hung loosely about his waist, he took another and reloaded. Snake turned to him.  
  
"The cable," Snake said. "The cable that puppet used to tie you up. We can use that."  
  
"First we have to get back there," Jack commented, his tone rather pessimistic. Snake held his SOCOM up by his face and grinned at Jack who fiddled with his FAMAS before doing something of the same thing. They were going to fight every last one of the soldiers on the fourth floor, until all were dead or out of their way. They had taken down three, leaving only four, and they were all between them and the ripped and mangled cable that was still strung somewhere near the elevator shaft.  
  
They nodded to each other and hurried off, heading down the hall opposite the way they had come, seeing as it seemed closer than going back around. Their weapons held high, and their faces stern, they trudged through the halls, the lights no longer flashing but solid and unchanging.  
  
Without notice, from a room two doors behind, two soldiers burst, their guns anxious and their hearts raging. At the sound of the door busting open, Snake swiftly turned 'round and fired only twice, bringing both of them to the floor, blood seeping from their bodies. Jack went along, not phased, and if anything, more determined than before.  
  
The last onslaught left only two more soldiers, but in all the time that Jack and Snake walked to where the cable remained, dangling from the ceiling and slumping from the walls, they did not see them. They stopped at the mess of cables to find the right piece; one with good length, but one that was not hindered by weakness, or was too thin. They had to find the right piece or they would not make it to the roof, but would instead find their way to the ground many feet below.  
  
Immeasurable minutes passed, all well spent in attempts of finding the best and most suited length of cable for the specific use. In time, they did indeed find one. It was fifteen feet long, had a few kinks (all generally subtle), and was just a little weak on one end, but as long as they did not throw it the wrong way, they would be fine. Now, all that was left was something that could act as a pick, or a claw to latch on to the lip of concrete around the perimeter of the rooftop. As they continued back to the shattered window, they brainstormed, bouncing ideas off each other, but without luck. They needed climbing tools, not office tools.  
  
"A gun," Snake said, stopping. His arms were crossed in thought, and Jack looked back at him, this time knowing exactly what he had meant. "We'll use one as a claw…that FAMAS of yours…that might work." Jack held up his FAMAS and looked at it, sighing as he did.  
  
"What if it doesn't work? What if it falls off the cable?" Jack asked, almost nervously.  
  
"Then it falls off the cable," Snake replied, snatching the FAMAS up in his arms and tying the cable that dragged behind him, into a type of noose that fit through the trigger space in the gun. Then, he slipped out the equipped magazine and handed it to Jack. "We don't want it to go off as we're climbing," he said, and Jack nodded hesitantly.  
  
The two made their way to where the glass lay scattered about the floor of the room, and Snake peered upward, trying to calculate how high and how hard he should throw the cable. "Now this," he said as he thought, "is a test of wits. Hide and Seek is a kid's game." Jack snickered at his comment and then, Snake grabbed the FAMAS in his right hand and with all of his might, tossed it upward. He waited, and then it fell back down. When he tugged on the cable to keep it all from falling downward, he stumbled a little, almost falling from the safety of the building. He looked at Jack for a moment, and seeing his smile about to break into a fit of laughter, he tried again, determined to show that his innovative mind would pull through for them.  
  
Once again, the FAMAS and the cable dropped back down. So, he threw it again. This time, it scraped the side of the building, cutting into the glass wall to make a high-pitched screech. Jack was almost on the floor, but Snake didn't see why he found it so funny. So, he tossed it again, this time throwing it in toward the building just slightly more than before. "Clank!" he heard, as, unlike before, neither the cable nor the FAMAS fell back down. He tugged on it slightly, and when nothing budged, keeping his hand on it, he turned to Jack who was doubled over with laughter.  
  
Slowly, Jack's head rose and his face turned unusually serious, a slight bit of red overtaking his cheeks. Snake grunted and tugged on the cable again. "Seems stable. I'll go up first," he said, but Jack didn't answer. Then, Snake gripped the cable in two hands and jumped on, crossing his legs about it, and began to work his way upward (NOTE: They are on the side of Hell's Outpost opposite the Spire. Just for your information).  
  
"Don't move!" Jack heard, but only slightly. Snake was all ready too far up the cable to hear the cry, but Jack turned slowly, to face two soldiers, their guns held high. "I said don't move!" one of them yelled again, more clearly, as to avoid having to shoot. The message Rogue had sent was to no stop until all radicals were KILLED (emphasis on the word "killed"), but it was relatively obvious that the two did not wish to fire their weapons.  
  
"You gonna shoot?" Jack asked, realizing their weakness. Neither of them wavered, and neither of them answered. They just continued to look at him, their guns aimed at his head. "If I move out of the way…will you shoot me?"  
  
"Shuddap!" one of them yelled, afraid that if Jack tempted him enough, he might actually pull the trigger. The other simply watched, his finger ready, but unwilling.  
  
"That's right…you're all from disbanded militaries. You're…radicals too, aren't you?" Jack questioned, trying to get them to do something other than stare blankly at him. Their hands moved nervously, caressing their guns. They began to shake. The noise that they made was obvious to Jack, and he did not wish to fight them any more than they did.  
  
Two shots rang out, but they were not of the enemies' weapons. They came from Jack's Hammerli 280, it's shot ringing out, and alarming Snake who had almost reached the roof. One of the men dropped onto his knees, letting his gun fall out of his hands, but the other had been hit in the left shoulder, not necessarily his stronger side. His gun, on the other hand, did not drop to the ground, but remained tightly wedged in his palms.  
  
The UMP 450 that was gripped in his hands, shined with a glimmering magnificence unlike any Jack had ever seen. It looked so well kept that it almost seemed as if it had never been fired, had never bloodied a wall, or a floor, or a window. A gun never lies. They stick true. If a gun is bloody, it's been through hell, but if it's clean, it's been through absolutely nothing. Snake hung on the edge of the cement lip, waiting for some sort of sign to continue or go back, and Jack was being stared down by an innocent man with the power to take any life with the pull of a trigger… 


	15. A Distant Adversary

Chapter Fifteen: A Distant Adversary  
  
  
  
"You want to shoot me," Jack said, toying with the soldier. He was the deadliest of all. He wasn't there under the 'control' of the Patriots, nor was he working for anyone, truly. He had joined Philosophy for his own gain, not for anyone else's, and he was innocent. Completely innocent. Nothing like Revolver Ocelot, who was cold and cruel, but still full of the misfortunes and stress of life. He had a gun put in his hand, and he was told to pull the trigger. There's no doubt a man under pressure and in need of money would fire that gun. The only true question would be 'how much would it take?' Every man has his breaking point, and Jack was trying to find it.  
  
"Shuddap!" the soldier cried. The black ski mask helped nothing. It only made him more handicapped. He was unable to see with it on. Yes, his sight was clear, but his mind was not. It was like a net, trapping all of his feelings inside. Quickly, he pulled it off of his face and dropped it to the floor, putting his hand back on his gun. It was a UMP 450, and equipped on its end was a suppressor.  
  
"With that suppressor," Jack began, "no one would ever have to know you killed me. You could hoot me and get away with it." Jack started walking toward the soldier who began to take slow steps backward. Eventually, he stopped, and as Jack continued, he pushed the UMP at him, shoving it in his face, showing him the truth of the situation. Jack stopped.  
  
"I don't shoot for you!" the soldier yelled, pushing Jack in the chest with the end of the suppressor. "I don't halt for you! I shoot if I like! You are in my hands! Mine!" The soldier slowly reached one of his hands down to his beltline to retrieve his radio. Gripping it cautiously, he drew it to his mouth and held down the switch on its side. "Potential radical on fourth floor! Another heading for the roof!"  
  
Jack looked at his feet. "Better now than never," he said and the soldier looked at him, puzzled. Suddenly, Jack pulled his Hammerli 280 from its holster, wrapped his other hand 'round the UMP's suppressor and jerked it from the man's grip. The Hammerli was level with the soldier's face, and he stood there in shock, the radio still in his hand, and his thumb still tightly pressing the button on its side.  
  
Jack fit the UMP under his arm and held out his free hand pulling his thumb away, signaling for the soldier to release his own from the radio. He did just that, and then held it out for Jack who snatched it up, quickly. "You see," Jack started, "you don't want to die. And that's why you're going to help undo what your just did. Got it?" The soldier nodded nervously and listened. "Now, I'm going to give this back to you, and you're going to tell your friends that you didn't find us. You're going to tell them we were two hostages and we were trying to get away. Then, you tell them you killed us. Got it?" The soldier nodded in agreement and Jack cautiously handed him the radio again.  
  
Watching Jack as if for some sort of emotional support, he pushed down on the button on the radio's side and slowly spoke into it. "F…false alarm. Just…two hostages. I k…killed them," he said and then let go of the button, dropping the radio to the floor. It aroused a clatter when it hit the floor, and Snake began to descend the cable. Jack heard him and turned.  
  
"No, don't worry," he said. "Give me just one second." Just then, before he had turned, he heard a thump. The soldier was on his back, blood seeping from his neck, and a knife tightly gripped in his right hand. Jack took one look and then turned away, quickly. "Didn't think ya had it in ya," he said and then began to walk away, dropping the UMP behind him.  
  
He saw Snake start back of the cable, and quickly holstered his Hammerli as he approached the shattered window of a wall. His walk was different. Not far from his unusual half-skip, half-run style, but it was more hard, less loose. It was sad, and determined. How terrible one's life must be if one was willing to take it…he was hurt by the revelation, but not struck down. He wasn't out of the game yet.  
  
"I'm up," Snake said and Jack tugged the cable to make sure it was secure. Then, he grabbed a hold of it and began to climb. Snake was lying on his stomach, just up against the lip of the roof. He heard a buzz in his ear and quickly put his fingers to it.  
  
"Yea?" he asked, knowing that it would be Otacon.  
  
"I see you." It wasn't Otacon. The voice was squeaky and shrill. It was the same he had heard after encountering Little Mary for the first time. Snake thought to move, but did not, realizing the possible danger of his situation. "Ah ah ah, Snake. Don't try and stand. Someone else could be watching."  
  
"Who are you?" Snake asked, but the answer was no different than the last.  
  
"I cannot tell you that for now, Snake, but please don't try anything stupid. There are others out on the prowl tonight, and I should hate to think what they might do if they spotter you…" the voice returned. Then, just as soon as the conversation had commenced, it closed.  
  
"Damn!" Snake waited, accessing Otacon's familiar frequency. He waited and then a short beep sounded. Otacon was connected.  
  
"Snake! Are you in position?" Otacon asked, urgently. A hand reached over the lip of the roof and Snake turned on his side to help Jack over it. His body fell onto the roof beside him and he snuck down behind the lip, staring at Snake as he spoke.  
  
"Yea," he said. "We're ready."  
  
"We?" Otacon asked quizzically.  
  
"Jack and I. We're both here."  
  
"So you met up with him again?" Otacon asked, confirming Jack's name to Farrel who seemed rather surprised. "Is it safe for us to land there?"  
  
"I was just contacted by that guy I spoke to earlier. I don't think it's ever safe for you to land here, but now is as good a time as ever," Snake said.  
  
"Take us in!" Otacon yelled to the pilot of the helicopter. "We're coming. Give us some cover…if we need it." Snake nodded even though Otacon had no way of knowing, and then looked to Jack.  
  
"Be ready for any surprises," Snake said as the sound of the chopper began to fill their ears. Jack nodded and looked to untie his FAMAS from the cable that dangled down to the floor below. "Don't take that," Snake said. "We might need to go back down that way." Jack sighed and pulled forth his small Hammerli, brandishing it in the darkness.  
  
"Then I guess I'll just use this," he said, almost as if he had a choice. The sound of the chopper grew louder still, and Snake pulled forth his SOCOM, holding his hand out for Jack who set a magazine in his open palm. He let the spent clip slide out, and inserted the other in its place.  
  
Before they knew it, the chopper was nearly over top of them. Snake hit his fist on the rooftop, realizing he had left his NVG's a floor below. Jack looked up at him and pulled a pair of Thermal Goggles from his waist, holding them out for Snake. "This is the last time I lend you something of mine. You're on your own from here on out," Jack said, jokingly, and Snake grabbed the Thermals, strapping them tightly around his face. He looked up and could see Otacon looking out of the doorway of the chopper, waving ever so slightly.  
  
Then, the chopper was down, and both Jack and Snake were on their feet. There was but one door on the helicopter, and unfortunately, it opened on the other side, making Snake and Jack run around to it. It also presented another problem…  
  
Snake went around the chopper and smiled when he saw Otacon step down on the rooftop, his white jacket on and his glasses as loose and annoying as ever. His hair was messy but shiny even in the darkness of the night, and he looked as if he had spent many long hours thinking. Nothing but thinking. "It's good to see you," Snake said, and he shook Otacon's hand firmly.  
  
"You too," his friend chuckled, turning to help Farrel out of the chopper. As he stepped toward the three of them, he seemed to stumble and Snake's head whipped around to what lay behind them. The Spire stood just in their direction, and when he turned back to Farrel he saw something bleeding from his chest.  
  
They had all heard it. It was a gunshot. And then, there was another. This one was not placed in Farrel's chest though, but had instead found its way to his forehead. The impact threw him against the back wall of the chopper and the look on his face was terrible. It was wretched and saddened. None of them had immediately turned to help him down, and he in turn was shot. He had died.  
  
"Get down!" Snake yelled, and he and Otacon dodged around the helicopter, a bullet just missing them. Jack did the same, but went around the other side, the back rudder emitting loud whooshing sounds in his ear. He too was afraid. Afraid and devastated. The three were alert, but Snake was the only one in the condition to fight. Otacon was too upset, too stained by the event to do anything. It had happened so fast, and even Snake, who knew hardly anything of Farrel, felt somewhat hurt by it…somewhat affected.  
  
"He…we…" Otacon tried to speak, but could not. Jack didn't say anything. They just waited, but they heard a faint noise trying to sound over the helicopter. The pilot was knocking on his window with his fist, waving his hand upward. He was leaving them, and if they did not retreat to another location quickly, they would have no cover.  
  
"Otacon, follow Jack. We've got a distant adversary. He'll get you out of the line of fire," Snake said, turning back to Otacon who looked at him with eyes full of sadness. Snake shot a glance to Jack and waved him off. "Go!" Jack quickly stood and led Otacon to the cable as the helicopter began to pull away. Snake watched them go, and then looked in the direction of the Spire as the helicopter retreated.  
  
He looked back again, and Otacon had disappeared over the side of the building. The helicopter had gone, and so had his only other friends. He stood there, uncovered and naked to the world…to his enemy. The distant adversary watched…  
  
Something sounded in his ear. "Peek–a–boo," the voice reached out. "I see you…" 


	16. People's Will

Chapter Sixteen: People's Will  
  
  
  
Snake was alone. His arms at his sides, his stance without flaw, he watched the snow being carried through the fickle wind, trying to peer through it where his predator watched and waited. There was a gun pointed at his head, but for whatever reason, it had not been fired.  
  
"What do you want?" Snake asked, still not moving. The voice in his ear cackled.  
  
"I don't want you, Snake," he said. "Not dead, at least. Go on, take a stab at it! What do YOU think I want?" Nothing came to mind. The only things he ever knew drove people to do what they did were the thirst for their own demise, and other emotional wounds. Snake couldn't think of why anyone who was obviously willing to kill him, wished not to pull the trigger. Their shot was clear. Nothing but snow drifted in the way.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Oh?" the man asked. "I have a proposition for you, Snake. There is something in this building that I desire, and only you can hand it to me. Are you in?"  
  
"What is it that you want?" Snake asked. He did not move.  
  
"That friend of yours…Otacon, I believe it is?"  
  
"No," Snake stated without any further hesitation. He would not turn Otacon into anyone no matter the consequences.  
  
"My crosshairs are sitting over your forehead, Solid Snake. Please, don't disappoint me," the voice replied. There was a hiss in Snake's ear and it seemed as if the man's voice was altering…almost mechanically.  
  
"A voice box?" Snake questioned. The man laughed.  
  
"I cannot hide anything from you."  
  
"I want to know who you are," Snake told him.  
  
"You know I can't tell you –," the man started, but Snake began to turn and walk away. A shot rang out, crumbling the roof where he would have stepped only seconds later. "Don't try me, Snake!" In just seconds his voice had intensified, leading Snake as it would anyone, to believe that he was certainly not one to be reckoned with.  
  
"Who are you?" Snake repeated, turning back to face the Spire. The man hesitated for a long while, sitting and staring through his scope. A long while passed as the two waited and watched, each of them thinking…pondering what they could do next. The man did not want to reveal his identity, and Snake did not want to be shot at again. "I can't tell you," he said again and Snake grunted.  
  
"Then I think I'm going to leave."  
  
"Stay right there!" the man cried. Snake looked back at the Spire and grinned.  
  
"Don't you think the people will wonder how secure you are if they hear you talking to yourself?" Snake asked quizzically. He didn't hear an answer from the man on the other end, but as he listened he could hear voices in the background, their cries alarmed and upset.  
  
"What's wrong?!" a voice called out. "Desperado!" called the other. Then, the actions were muffled and the line appeared dead.  
  
"The mystery caller has just checked in," Snake said, hoping that Desperado, who was indeed on the other line, would hear. Then, the line seemed to open up again, as if he had taken his hand off of a microphone. The other voices were gone, and Desperado's, now completely decipherable, whispered to Snake.  
  
"You go back to your friends, but keep in mind – I will always be watching you. Your friend wont be safe until he is in my hands. Good day, Solid Snake." The transmission ended like that, leaving Snake without words on the roof of Hell's Outpost. As he turned to go down the cable at the other end of the roof, he stopped, seeing something red painted on the floor in a messy fashion. It was the blood of Farrell.  
  
Kneeling down, Snake touched it to his gloves and then put his hand into a fist, smearing the blood in his palm. He gripped it tightly, the padding of his gloves beginning to give way under his strength., and threw his hand away, gathering his strength and moving over to the cable. He began to descend without another thought.  
  
  
  
Otacon was sitting against the wall, his head in his hands. To his left was Jack, his arms folded and his eyes closed, small trails of tears streaming down his cheeks. As Snake dropped to the floor, he looked up the cable and then pulled upward and to the right until the whole thing came falling down, catching it as it began to dangle below. As he pulled it up, he untied the FAMAS from its end and walked over to Jack, putting it in his hand. "Sorry," Snake said as he walked past the two, his eyes barely open.  
  
"Otacon," Snake said as he turned to the two of them, "how was the trip?" Otacon looked up at him, red rings around his eyes and smudge marks all over his face. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and sniffled a great mess of mucous into his throat. Slowly, he stood, made his way to the shattered wall, and spit it out into the cold air. He turned back to the others and made his way to Snake, no definite rhythm to how he walked.  
  
"I came up with ideas…why we were tipped on this mission," he said, his head still low. "Farrel had a very integral position in this mission. I could tell by how he was acting, how urgent he seemed, and how much he questioned or hushed me when I spoke to you." Snake nodded, taking his place against a wall. Otacon stopped walking, using his hands as visual aid. "I don't know his exact involvement, but I know that he had something very important to do. That's why they took him out of the equation…and I think Jack knows what I'm talking about." Jack looked up and sighed, returning his stare to the shiny floor.  
  
"I…knew him. I'm not here because I wanted action, I'm here on duty – fulfilling my job as an operative of People's Will," Jack paused, giving both Otacon and Snake time to digest the news.  
  
"People's Will was a group of German nationalists who assassinated Alexander II," Otacon commented.  
  
"Not this one," said Jack. "Shortly before the Arsenal incident, People's Will was established as a special operations network designed to expose the truth of the Patriots and eject them from power." Jack pushed away from the wall and started over to the two. "As soon as word circulated through the media, I was contacted by Farrel himself. He said that if I wanted a job, and since I all ready knew of the Patriots, I was welcome on his team. I can't turn down that kind of offer, so I took it."  
  
"So what role did Farrel play in all this?" Snake asked, but when Jack stopped beside Otacon, he looked up.  
  
"He was the commander of People's Will…the co-founder, and was very involved in all of my work. This is my first operation with People's Will, but a lot of big names are in it with me. Some of them are here in Hell's Outpost, even." Otacon nodded.  
  
"Big names?" Snake questioned again. Jack looked at him and smiled.  
  
"I can't tell ya, that'd be disclosing too much information. Who knows? You could be working for the Patriots."  
  
"Heh. I saw a Cypher when I arrived here – ," Snake started, but Jack answered his question before he had the chance to continue.  
  
"That was us. It should still be around somewhere. Farrel thought that we could use it to get confirmation of the involvement of the Patriots in this mission. Ocelot is still with them, and we wouldn't be surprised if the rest of Philosophy was with them."  
  
"I was pretty sure the Patriots had nothing to do with this," Otacon commented. Jack waved him off.  
  
"Yea, I was skeptical myself, but it's somewhat obvious. Ocelot follows that Patriots like glue, and there's no way he could be working with Philosophy if they weren't on his side."  
  
"But…" Otacon started, "the current head of Philosophy is a clone. He could get past a clone easily."  
  
"That clone is only here to ruin me. Snake suggested Ocelot was worried that maybe the Patriots weren't real, but I think that the real reason might be bringing down People's Will. As soon as attention is drawn to me, the Patriots will dig and dig until they know everything about me, and once they find my name under the People's Will roster, they'll make up some bullshit accusing us of this and that, and they'll have everyone involved locked up."  
  
"That's a clever plan," Snake said. "Right now, what we have to do is make sure that the Perfect Cell doesn't make it anywhere near Socrates. As soon as he is stopped, we are in the clear." Jack shook his head.  
  
"No," he said. "We need more help before we can take on Philosophy. Some of my colleagues are on-site. First, we need to make sure that they're all right. They can give us a hand, but only when we know they're alive and well."  
  
"Hmph…so where are they?" Snake asked.  
  
"Two of them are working behind-the-scenes – undercover – one of them is going rogue – stationed outside the base – and another is being held in the hostage room, still. I have the Codec frequencies recorded for two of them, but I joined the team before they could remove my current nanomachines and rewire me with ones suitable for People's Will."  
  
"We both have Codec capabilities. Give us the frequencies and we can get in touch with them," Otacon suggested, but Jack disapproved the idea.  
  
"No," he said. "They wont answer unless it's a familiar frequency. Is there any way to bounce yours off of one of theirs and reach the other with the frequency cloaked?" Otacon looked at him unsure, but then nodded.  
  
"If I can find some equipment around here, then I can take care of it for you," he said and smiled. Snake looked at them both.  
  
"I don't want to leave Otacon," Snake insisted, seeing as Desperado wanted his life, but Otacon shook his head wildly.  
  
"Don't worry, Snake, we'll be fine," he said.  
  
"You should get to the hostage room. Another operative is waiting there for you, along with the architect of Hell's Outpost. He might come in handy," Jack commented. Snake sighed.  
  
"You were briefed much better than me," he said, and he checked his SOCOM's ammo. Then, Jack held up his index finger and ran down the hall, returning with his FAMAS.  
  
"Here ya go, pal," he said, holding it out to Snake who took it, looked over it, and then slung it over his back.  
  
"Thanks," he said as he began to walk down the hall in the opposite direction. Then, he stopped and turned, looking Jack directly in the eyes. "Don't let him out of your sight," he said, grinned, and then went on his way.  
  
  
  
1 End Metal Gear Solid: The Compilation  
  
2 PART ONE: PEOPLE'S WILL  
  
…By espresso d gecko  
  
  
  
AUTHORS NOTE: Fear not. This is NOT the end of the story, but merely the end of the first section. Possibly tonight, most likely tomorrow night, I will have the first chapter of "Part Two: Raindrops" up. Thank you for reading! And PLEASE review the first part, including anything and everything that may help my writing. Tell me everything you can!! I want the end to be the BEST on this website!! Thanks!! 


	17. A Face All Too Familiar

Metal Gear Solid: The Compilation  
  
PART TWO: RAINDROPS  
  
...By espresso d gecko  
  
Chapter Seventeen: A Face All Too Familiar  
  
The team had reunited, and had broken again, going their separate ways in hopes of reuniting again, their company strengthened in numbers. The immediate responsibility was to ensure the safety of all on-site People's Will operatives, and retrieve gather as a whole to prepare for the task of overtaking Hell's Outpost - a task that could only be executed with the assistance of Jack's colleagues.  
  
Snake was heading for the hostage room, in search of another operative, and both Otacon and Jack were in charge of contacting two others using Codec, but in order to do so, they had to cloak their frequency and that required further mechanical assistance, and Otacon was without his greatest friend besides Snake: a computer. He and Jack were wondering the halls of the fourth floor in search of a powered station to utilize in their efforts.  
  
"Hey, come over here!" Jack yelled, two rooms away from where Otacon stood which was in the hall, his arms crossed and his breath going out like smoke before him. He had not come prepared for the cold weather, and the shattered wall didn't help the situation.  
  
Quickly, putting his obvious state of misery out of mind, he jogged into the maze of offices in the interior of the fourth floor, and continued to wind through them, his destination near. But, his attempts seemed futile, for even though he had been less than two rooms away, the confusing path of the cubicles was so convoluted that every direction from where he now stood - about eight cubicles away - lead right back to where he was.  
  
"I...I can't find you!" Otacon cried, crossing his arms again and bundling up under a desk. There was no doubt that finding Jack was much easier than he had made it, but the temperature was grueling for him, and being under a desk seemed much more favorable than walking through a series of cubicle aisles. Then, there were a few shots, and Otacon covered his head in fright. Looking up, he saw three holes in the cubicle wall across from him.  
  
"Anything?" Jack asked again. Otacon gripped his hand on the edge of the desk and pulled himself up. He sighed and then called out.  
  
"I'm in that direction," he said. Then, ducking, he heard a few more shots, and then the breaking of wood and cardboard. Waiting there, Otacon watched as the cubicle before him began to bend in the middle and crack halfway down its back. Standing before him, no longer cloaked by the endless aisles of white cubicles was Jack.  
  
"Come on," he said, reaching out his hand to help Otacon over the existing desktop of the cubicle he had destroyed. Otacon put out his own hand and took Jack's lifting himself onto the desk and then jumping down to the stiff-carpeted floor. They continued over several desks until Otacon saw an operating computer, the only one out of a box on the fourth floor, hooked into a hub at the base of the cubicle. Otacon's face lit up with glee and he took a seat in the wheeled chair that was there.  
  
"Good job, Jack," Otacon said as he put down his hands to the keyboard, immediately entering the Hardline server installed on the computer. Microsoft's Windows had been discontinued in 2007 after Microsoft was tried for fraud and misappropriation of their technological advances. In plain words, they were ejected on terms of embezzlement. Specifically, a program entitled Find Fast, loaded on Windows, was investigated and proved to be a data indexer, which recorded any and all information regarding the owner of the computer, along with all other technical `things' on the computer. This program worked as Microsoft's `Patriot Program' as some in Philanthropy called it, for reasons quite obvious I am sure.  
  
Nonetheless, Otacon booted up the Hardline server and watched as several windows appeared on the screen, their contents of the control sort. As the computer had not yet been booted up, seeing as all of Hell's Outpost was overrun before the construction had been assessed, Otacon was required to set all of the system's parameters. Hardline had become well known for its customizing features, giving the owner almost full control over any and all specifics regarding the system's operating server.  
  
Jack was obviously bored out of his mind, watching as Otacon sifted through windows and windows of customizable parameters and data sorters, but he could do nothing but blame himself. He had been the one who insisted on staying with Otacon, and at the moment their work seemed to be going rather slowly. Still, Otacon was indulged in the process and was enjoying it more than anything since joining Philanthropy. The only thing he wished was for things to be simpler. He didn't need guns or action, but just peaceful living, but ever since his involvement in the Metal Gear Rex project, he knew he would never get out of the trade.  
  
"Okay," he said out of the blue. "It's up and running. Give it a second to load and we can get to work on the Codec tricks." Jack looked this way and that and found a chair to sit upon, seeing as their work may take a while longer than he hoped, and falling asleep while standing could result in some major injuries. Wheeling it over to the desk, he sat down. Hardline's logo appeared on the screen and with it was a short tune, like the introduction to Windows, before Otacon was ready to go. "All right, we're set. Now...we just have to figure out a method for bouncing this signal off your colleague's."  
  
Jack looked at him. "It would be nice if we didn't have to worry about it at all," he said, sighing, but Otacon ignored him, realizing that nothing he would say in the coming moments would be supportive or helpful. Jack was a shooter, not a mathematician.  
  
"Obviously, this computer wont be equipped with nanomachines feedback capabilities...at least naturally. Seeing as this site had no nanomachines functions or management systems, there would be no need for something like that. So, what we have to do is get online." Otacon said, initiating Netscape, the most popular ISP to date.  
  
"What will getting online do to help?" Jack questioned, and Otacon who wished not to ignore him as he had been doing, answered politely.  
  
"Philanth...," Otacon corrected himself. "CODE has an international server that I use to monitor Snake on his missions. I can use the features built into the server to link with our satallelite and in turn imitate the transmission's frequency. It's really pretty simple." Jack looked at him, dumbfounded and decided the best thing to do was nod his head and go along with it.  
  
"Gotcha!" Otacon exclaimed as his server's .com appeared on the screen before him. Clicking through the menus and interactive windows that were enabled using a new programming language available, known as Pedro, he found the login page. "Access to the sat's (satellite's) control systems is granted after inputting a 12-digit pass-code and a valid username. Look away," he said and Jack turned in his chair, peering about the cubicle area. He waited, whistling a short tune "Raindrops keep falling on my head," and then turned back when Otacon approved.  
  
"You see, I need to input a nano-ID, carried in the nanomachines, in order to focus on a single person. Their ID is identical to their Codec frequency, making it a shorter process. What was the frequency?" Jack looked back into his memory, trying to pull it forth like a bunny rabbit from a hat.  
  
"143...point 29," he said, and Otacon quickly entered the nano-ID. He received a `positioning' notice, and the two waited in silence for the ID to be approved. When a message blinked on the screen, asking for confirmation, Otacon re-entered his pass-code, and the sat's direction was insured.  
  
"There we go, that satellite is positioned on your friend. Now, if I can access the Pedro code...I can send a signal to their frequency that will then rend it useless, putting it under our control. Then..." Otacon paused as he brought up the code of the control page, and fiddled around for a few moments before continuing. "Then we enter my nano-ID...and...voila! It's done." The computer confirmed the position and the execution as Otacon turned to Jack, a smile on his face. "I'm good for something," he said.  
  
"Give it a try. Contact frequency...143.80," Jack said, and Otacon set frequency to 14380, waiting silently for something to reply. Seconds passed, then minutes before a voice finally returned.  
  
"Sorry," the man said. "I had to get in another room. What is it, Naomi?" Otacon sat their, dumbstruck and at awe.  
  
"What...did you say?" he asked, and in return there was a quick and fearful reply.  
  
"Naomi?! Where's Naomi?"  
  
"Naomi...Hunter?" Otacon asked, still unable to complete a sentence were he to make the attempt. "This...this is a friend...of Jack's. Naomi Hunter?"  
  
"You're no friend!" the man cried, but then Jack yelled back.  
  
"Keith! It's Jack!" Just barely, the man could hear Jack in the background, and he immediately slowed his breathing, relieved but not yet convinced that Otacon was a friend.  
  
"Yes," Keith replied, "Naomi Hunter. Why?! Why do you want to know?" Otacon didn't return any conversation. Naomi Hunter, the medical expert of the Shadow Moses incident, and the mastermind behind the FOX-DIE operation staged as a means of killing off the hostages and eliminating need for further caution. Last Otacon had heard was she had been spending time with service, and was still being somewhat confined, and watched by the government...or the Patriots rather. She was part of People's Will? How?  
  
Snake made his way into the hall of the third floor, the elevator doors sliding closed behind him, their shiny metal screeching as he slowly stepped toward the hostage room, its door only feet away. Someone important was supposed to be there. One of the People's Will operatives was there, and the architect of Hell's Outpost, but hat could he be used for? There were four levels...Snake had seen them all. There wasn't any need for an architect.  
  
Stepping through the doorway, his eyes immediately caught sight of the bare spot where Turret once lay...before he rose with a knife to take his and Jack's lives. There was very little blood still staining the cold floor, and as he took notice of it he couldn't help but remember the blood that stained the roof of the building, still. The blood of Farrel, who he had not even known...still it stayed with him even after he tried to shake it out of his head.  
  
Continuing forward, he looked around the room, seeing the frightened, wide eyes of the hostages all around him. "I'm back," ha said and as soon as his mouth opened there were various screams from their mouths, muffled by anything from socks to handkerchiefs. As he stalked into the mass of them, he looked this way and that trying to spot the black suits he had seen the deliverers come in. As his eyes scanned the room, they caught something in the corner, somewhat hidden in the shadows.  
  
His pace quickening, he hurried toward the form and when he was standing over it, he could tell it was a woman. She wore the black clothing, though, and there was blood on her jacket, probably from the delivery boy they had murdered on the helipad when Snake arrived. She was not shaking, looking through the holes in her black ski mask. He could tell...she was someone she had far from forgotten. She was familiar. Her eyes...quickly he pulled the ski mask from her head and stopped. Her face...was all too familiar... 


	18. Chinese Proverbs

Chapter Eighteen: Chinese Proverbs  
  
Mei Ling.  
  
She was sitting there before Snake, tears running down her clean, unscathed face There was a certain sparkle in her eyes that made Snake almost fall backwards, and while seeing her was not a great shock, seeing her THERE, was.  
  
"Snake?" she cried, fitfully, as he tried to smile. "What're you doing here?" He looked at her, more surprised now than before.  
  
"What are YOU doing here?" Snake asked, but she shook her head, trying to nudge at her cheeks with her shoulders to dab the tears away, but she could not. As she looked back up at him, she smiled.  
  
"I can't tell you," she sighed.  
  
"I know about People's Will, but...why would you be working on-site?" she seemed uncomfortable having learned of his knowledge of People's Will, but then continued, hesitantly.  
  
"I wanted to do more, and my commander thinks my help is more effective here than in an office. I guess he's right, too. But, I'm not helping anyone tied up here..." She began to trail off, and then Snake looked down at her, saddened. She didn't know that Farrel was dead.  
  
"Farrel," Snake paused as her eyes shot up at him in surprise once again, "he's...dead." Mei Ling was never incredibly emotional when she and Snake had known each other, but as Snake stood there before her, he saw a whole new part of her. She began to fall apart, not literally, and she dropped her head between her knees. Snake could hear her as she shuddered and sobbed, and he turned away, easing her tension.  
  
"How?" she asked, raising her head from between her knees. Snake shook his head, afraid and unable to say anything more. He had witnessed it on the roof just as he was stepping out of the helicopter...he had to see it all, and while he had indeed seen death many times before, the death of that man...so close to safety, if anywhere in Hell's Outpost could be considered safe...it was beyond devastating.  
  
"Sniper shot...one in the chest...another in the head." As he turned back to her, he could see that se had dropped her face down again, and had continued to cry, her face moistening every second. Snake wasn't one for romance, and in an attempt to both make her feel more comfortable and for himself to not have to witness her pain, he turned away and started through the crowd of hostages tied to whatever was behind, beside, or in front of them.  
  
"One must first learn to accept misfortune, before overcoming it," Mei Ling stated as Snake lifted a shard of Turret's chain gun from the chilled floor. He noted her comment and returned to where she sat with the sharp piece of a gun barrel in his hand. As he bent down, beginning to saw through the rope that bound Mei Ling, she noticed the blood on his glove and cringed. "You have all ready killed?"  
  
He stopped, following her eyes to his glove and closed his eyes. "That's from Farrel," he stated, continuing to cut through the thick rope. She was deeply saddened by this, but managed to compose herself in her state of sorrow. For a long while there was silence...long...cold...dead silence, the only sound in the room, which was still nearly impossible to make out, was the quiet scratching of the shard on the rope.  
  
"He was...here?" Mei Ling asked. Snake did not halt his work, but instead answered as he tore through the layers of tough wire and rope wound up into one thick human-sized handcuff.  
  
"He came on a chopper with Otacon. Jack and I met them on the rooftop. The sniper's name was Desperado."  
  
"I saw you here earlier...when you confronted Turret. I could tell it was you by your voice, but I couldn't see you. There were too many things in my way," she said as he finally broke through the rope, sliding it off of her and lifting her onto her feet. "Why was Otacon here?"  
  
"I'm here with CODE. He was supposed to be back in Washington D.C., but the Patriots caught wind of him, and chased him out. He'd been working with Farrel to get information regarding this mission, and the two ended up here," Snake said as Mei Ling unzipped her black body-suit, revealing a pair of very tight, sleek, black pants and a camouflage top. "Not like you to dress so...skimpy," Snake suggested.  
  
"I'm a girl, you know," she laughed. "I can dress how I feel suitable."  
  
"Still doesn't mean you should try and look like the hooker on the corner," he said playfully. Her mouth grew wide and she pushed on him, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Only kidding," he said, turning not to show her how much he enjoyed it. It was truly amazing how they managed to, in spite of the death and misfortune around them, make fun on the battlefield.  
  
Just then, something began to ring in Snake's ear. He raised his index finger to hush Mei Ling and then `took the call'.  
  
"Snake?" It was Otacon in his giddy, nervous voice again.  
  
"Yea, it's me," he returned.  
  
"You recover the People's Will operative in the hostage room?" Otacon questioned.  
  
"Otacon!" Mei Ling cried. She'd entered the conversation at the conclusion of his question.  
  
"Mei Ling?!" Otacon shouted in disbelief.  
  
"How are you doing?" she asked, almost as if they were at a tea party, sitting down to a long night of gossip and small talk.  
  
"I'm great! And yourself?" he asked.  
  
"All right," she replied.  
  
"We can get reacquainted later. Right now we have to find a location to meet," Snake suggested. "Otacon, have you gotten in touch with any of the other operatives?"  
  
"Hello, Snake," Naomi answered slyly. Snake grimaced, grumbling under his breath and looking down to the floor.  
  
"Naomi," he whispered. "What brings you here?"  
  
"I'm here on a mission, Snake. Surprised?" Naomi replied in her usual `you-wanna-go?' tone. Snake grunted.  
  
"Yea," he answered. "I thought you were out of the business of ruining people's lives...or taking them." Naomi snickered at his remark, thinking back to FOXDIE, the virus that had taken the lives of many in the Shadow Moses incident many years back.  
  
"That was very long ago, and just because I work with medicine doesn't mean I can't work on-site. Do you doubt my composure?" she asked, provoking his anger.  
  
"Not at all," Snake said, quickly, before Otacon entered again, trying to cool them both down and release the tension in the moment.  
  
"So, there're two more operatives, right?" Otacon asked. Snake nodded, and while Otacon could not hear it, he took their silence as a resounding `yes.' "Can anyone identify them?"  
  
"Keith Peterson, `Mimic' - a master of disguise - and Janis Trey, `Operator' - the best technical specialist we could find," Naomi stated for the entirety of the company to hear. "Operator set up post outside of hell's Outpost, and Mimic is somewhere on the second floor. We should get in touch with them before we move on."  
  
"Heh," Snake started, "first let's figure out what we mean by `move on.' What's our plan for after we are all together," Snake asked. It was generally silent, and likewise, Naomi opted to answer his question.  
  
"There is a lot going on here that I don't think either you or Otacon truly understand. I came here with more personal objectives," she said.  
  
"Grey Fox," Snake added. She confirmed his reply with `Mm Hm.' "I saw him...after he was raised. How? How did they bring him back?"  
  
"Why, I'm not sure, but he must be useful to them... they must have some motive. Nonetheless, what I can gather leads me to believe that the majority of him was...reconstructed. Ater Shadow Moses," Naomi paused to compose herself, and stop herself from breaking down in tears. "After Shadow Moses, it was clear that he had been...crushed, but somehow, whoever got a hold of him must have reconstructed his bone structure, implanted a series of biomechanical organs, and created a Feedback Link that could give someone control of his `heart,' which is most likely no more than a computer chip."  
  
"When he looked at me, he acted as if he couldn't quite remember me," Snake commented. Naomi nodded.  
  
"Yes. Obviously, the remains on Shadow Moses could not have been in tact, and therefore, they probably salvaged what hey could of his brain and used regenerative medical operations to build the missing parts back into a working brain, using biomechanical additions. Surely, his memory was corrupted, and that is most likely the reason for his error in identifying you."  
  
"He seemed alive and well when I saw him. He can still handle that sword pretty well," Snake snickered.  
  
"Seeing as he is NOT well, none of us should be traveling alone," Otacon suggested. "If he cannot remember us as friend, then he will most likely revert to treating us as foe. Naomi, don't try anything off the wall. He wont remember you well, either."  
  
"Right," Naomi answered, her voice shaky and full of an obvious despair.  
  
"So," Snake said, "how DO we get in touch with the others?"  
  
"We'll have to find them," Jack said, entering the conversation.  
  
"I thought your nano's weren't modified for communication with People's Will?" Snake asked.  
  
"Give me some credit, Snake," Otacon replied. "I can talk and fix up some basic machinery at the same time!" There was sparse laughing amongst the company.  
  
"Distant water won't help put out a fire close at hand," Mei Ling commented. "In other words, going for their help is futile. Anything could happen while we are gone."  
  
"They're too concerned about us to get anything done now. We'll be all right," Jack insisted.  
  
"This can be a test," Snake stated.  
  
"A test?" asked Mei Ling.  
  
"To see if your Chinese Proverbs are right, or if they're just a bunch of bullshit," Snake replied.  
  
"We'll see," Mei Ling added. "Don't tell me I didn't warn you."  
  
"Right. Well, who's going where?" Snake asked, trying not to go astray from the topic of importance.  
  
"Snake," Otacon said, "you and Mei Ling; head for Operator. Jack, Naomi, and myself will get to the second floor and track down Mimic, okay?"  
  
"Gotcha," Snake confirmed.  
  
"Mmm Hmm," Naomi nodded.  
  
"Got it!" Mei Ling replied, enthusiastically.  
  
"All righty," Jack finally answered. Snake looked down and shook his head, sighing.  
  
"Good. Over and out," Otacon closed, and the transmission ended. Snake turned to Mei Ling and smiled at her, admiring her ability to fit into tight clothes.  
  
"You could make a hungry dog break its chain," Snake said, and Mei Ling laughed, crossing her arms, trying to shoot him down with a stern face. "Just some harmless joking," Snake said as they turned for the door, but when they had come to face with the exit, they saw someone standing there before them.  
  
"How nice to see the two of you alive and kicking," the man snickered. One hand was over his holster and the other was twirling his handlebar mustache. It was Snake's menace. Revolver Ocelot. 


	19. Snow Angels

Chapter Nineteen: Snow Angels  
  
"You have taken the bait," Revolver Ocelot said, twirling his mustache, gleefully. "I have been waiting for you to come. Like a dog, you are drawn to the smell, but in contrast...it is your own death that draws you." There was a terrible grin on his face...like one of a crazed killer, like one of a maniac.  
  
"Ocelot," Snake mumbled, stepping in front of Mei Ling as if to protect her. Mei Ling had an urge to stand forward, to stand proud like Snake, but the moment was not one of experimentation. Ocelot could skillfully handle his guns however he wished, and a mission never proved being anything short of challenging when he was involved. It was clear that he was a force not to be reckoned with.  
  
"Snake," Ocelot began, pulling his hand from his mustache to a holster, patting it lightly to intimidate Snake. "I do not wish to kill you, but if I am tempted..."  
  
"Then why are you here?" Snake asked sternly, and as usual, without expression.  
  
"Your friend, Otacon...he has something I desire," Ocelot stated, stepping over to where blood from Turret lay. He bent down and raised one of the shards of his chain gun, examining it closely. "Yes...do you know what it is, Snake?"  
  
"His skills," Snake suggested. Ocelot rose up, the shard in his hand, still, and turned to Snake, walking in his direction. Slowly. Very slowly.  
  
"Ahh, you are indeed correct. I don't...suppose you are willing to hand him over to me?" Ocelot questioned, and Snake looked at him intently, shaking his head. Ocelot's smile grew and he cocked his head quizzically. "Like I thought. Of course, there is more than one life on the line right now. You have an agent outside, waiting in the snow, and another on the second floor, wandering like a stray." Mei Ling gasped and Ocelot began to tap his fingers on a column beside him. "You fear for their lives, do you? Maybe you should talk your sidekick into thinking sensibly." Mei Ling's head fell low, but she knew that she wanted neither her partners in People's Will, nor Otacon to be harmed, and she knew that speaking to Snake about it would do nothing.  
  
"Otacon is not in your employ now, Ocelot, and he never will be. Not you, not your sniper friend...no one can change my mind, or his mind," Snake declared. Otacon sighed heavily, and set the shard of lead on a small counter beside him. Then, from his pocket he pulled a golden pocket watch.  
  
"Looks like it is about time. I have a rather important event to attend, but you...I believe you have approximately three minutes to reach your friend in the snow before her blood covers all of the Rockies. Good luck," Ocelot turned, entirely calm, and stalked out of the room. Snake drew his gun, but in an instant, Ocelot was out the door, and firing then would only frighten the hostages in the room.  
  
At that, Mei Ling started for the door in a fit of exasperation. Snake grabbed her arm as she went, halting her were she stood. She turned to him swiftly, and with tears in her eyes cried, "Janis is out there! We have to get to her before they do!" Snake looked into her eyes with a look of sadness. She was not fit for the front line. The horror of his job was something she was all ready witnessing, and she was driven by her emotions. While Snake always kept in touch with his own, she was naïve and blind when she followed her heart or her soul. She was still green, as he would say.  
  
"Mei Ling," Snake paused, "fine. Let's go," he said and the two started out of the room, to the elevator, and down to the first level where they exited the building, trudging in the direction Snake had landed, dodging the sharp eyes of the guards and the incessant spotlights that searched the ground.  
  
Naomi, Otacon, and Jack stood quietly in the elevator box, bracing themselves for the descent to the second level of Hell's Outpost where they had to report in search of Mimic, another of the People's Will agents positioned in Hell's Outpost. The elevator came to a halt, there was a faint beep, and the metal-barred doors slid to the sides. Otacon stood, waiting for Naomi to pass, but before she had a chance Jack scurried into the hall, his Hammerli 280 ready for action.  
  
"Ladies first," Otacon said. Jack caught the comment and thought to turn back to him and scold him for his remark, but instead kept to himself. Naomi smiled at Otacon and stepped into the hall behind Jack, pulling from under her enemy camouflage a small P-20, an altered version of the Hammerli. It was Single Action, and was of a slightly lower caliber than the Hammarli 280, but it worked and she knew it to be effective with a few shots.  
  
Jack turned back to them, sure that the halls were clear from there, and walked over to Naomi. "Do we have any contact with Mimic?" he asked, but Naomi shook her head.  
  
"Like you, he came in fairly late in the game and was never equipped with the proper nanomachines," Naomi answered. "Still, he should be on this floor. I don't suppose it will be too hard to pick him out of the others."  
  
"Well, if you can choose him out of a group of identical soldiers," Otacon said, "why would you employ him?" Naomi shrugged and then looked into the hall, her hands not shaking a bit. One would likely be jittering uncontrollably if it was their first time handling a gun, but Naomi was an unnatural woman, and always had a sense of control that hinted at a possible position on the front lines. She was no Snake, but she had the potential, no doubt. So much for a medical expect.  
  
"We should stick together," Jack suggested. "Getting separated and then caught could get us all in a load of trouble. Right now, we can't make mistakes."  
  
"Right," Otacon assured them, "but where do we start, and how DO we know who he is from a distance?" Naomi was obviously pondering his questions, her eyes still firmly set on the hall, monitoring it like an Doberman, anxiously awaiting a fattened trespasser to find it.  
  
"He has a neckerchief dangling from his right pocket," she remembered. It was his signal, his sign. To any other enemy, he would appear normal and the neckerchief was simply a good luck charm, but to his allies, it served a much greater purpose than luck. "Wait," Naomi said, her eyes no longer resting on the end of the hall, but now on a door just paces away.  
  
There, on the doorknob was a blue and white neckerchief, tied tightly around the brass. She waved the others ahead, and Jack stepped toward it, kneeling down and moving it to his nose. There was no smell besides sweat still in it. He shook his head in return to the others' questioning stares. "Nothing," he said, but Naomi wasn't about to stop there, and who would have?  
  
Slowly, she stepped, one foot over another, toward the door as Jack stood up and stepped aside. There was no window in the door, but instead it was entirely wood. Touching the neckerchief and rubbing it in her palm, Naomi held her ear up against the door and listened intently. There was movement of some kind within the room, and at that, she pulled her ear away. It sounded as if someone was sitting up against the door also, listening right back at her.  
  
She nodded back at the others and Jack held his Hammerli alert as Otacon took place behind him. Then, cautiously, Naomi turned the knob and threw the door open. Though they looked straight ahead, a loud thump fell at their feet, and the three of them quickly jerked their heads downward where there lay their prize.  
  
The unbelievable amount of blood covering the body made it hard to identify, but seeing the neckerchief on the doorknob was too coincidental to let go unnoticed. That body was that of Mimic, and his blood had forever stained the shoes that Naomi wore. She nearly got sick right there, but as Jack reached down, they heard voices down the hall.  
  
The snow was still falling; gentle but without cease. It simply continued to flow ever-so-slightly down to the ground, covering the footsteps of Snake and Mei Ling only moments after they left them behind. Snake quickly dropped to his knee, motioning for Mei Ling to also drop down, putting his index finger over his parched lips. He had heard something.  
  
Slowly but surely, he inched his way forward, Mei Ling following a few feet behind. Something was beyond the short wall of ice and snow that lay before them, and he knew that the chances of it being friendly were unlikely. Sure, their friend was supposed to be out there, but what were their chances of, on their first pursuit into the area around Hell's Outpost, to stumble over her. It was unlikely.  
  
Snake put his hand out, motioning for Mei Ling to stop as he listened intently to the wind. Nothing was disturbing it, but something had. Then, he heard something else. It lifted like a pack of gear, shaking and clanging as a soldier stood. Over the heap of snow was a soldier, dressed in the same odd camouflage, and in his hand was a knife, dripping with blood. He smirked, turned to see Snake, and then, as a shot rang out, fell on his back. Snake holstered his SOCOM and quickly stood, hurrying over the top of the ice wall. He turned away, and Mei Ling ran up beside him, her hands covering her mouth in astonishment.  
  
There, lying in the snow was a body saturated in its blood, swimming in a pool of scarlet in the shape of a snow angel. Lying in the snow was someone who had been simply enjoying their time, playing in the snow before meeting death in the chest with a knife. Lying in the snow was Operator.  
  
Lying in the snow was their diversion. 


	20. Final Preperations

Chapter Twenty: Final Preperations  
  
There was a lurching in Naomi's stomach as she turned away from the body, her hand over her mouth. The voices in the distant hallway had alerted Jack who quickly turned away from Mimic and crouched down to listen closely. Otacon was against the opposite wall, his eyes closed tightly and his fists clenched at his sides. That was the second dead body he had witnessed eye-to-eye on their operation, and it was one he wished to be his last.  
  
"Shh," Jack put up his index finger, getting Naomi to quit her crying. He watched and waited, and the echoes from around the corner of an adjacent hall began to close in on them, slowly but surely. Then, they stopped moving as if they had reached a door or their destination.  
  
"They've taken a slight detour," Ocelot's voice echoed. "We don't need to worry about them for now," he assured another. There was a short grunt and another voice returned to him.  
  
"Setup a perimeter around the facilities. I don't want them to live any longer than necessary," the voice proclaimed. It was that of Rogue. "So, is he ready?"  
  
"Yes," Ocelot answered.  
  
"Are you sure he is not also carrying a sword, Shalashaska?" Rogue mocked.  
  
"Our last specimen was a mistake, but there is no doubt that the next is on the spot," Ocelot reassured him. "And once he has risen, he will successfully construct the Hell Cell, and we will gather our last sum of money."  
  
"Have we spoken with the States? What is the plan? How are we going to turn over the radical specimen if he is on the loose?" Rogue questioned.  
  
"We will find another," Ocelot stated. "We will use the Mimic." Naomi heard his words just as Jack did, and they both turned to the body, its face like a pool of blood. Otacon quickly moved away from the wall, and tore the neckerchief from the doorknob, examining it closely. Just as he pulled it away, the knob fell away also, and they all froze. A song of steady rhythmic beeps was present, and on the neckerchief as Otacon then pointed out was the word `BANG.'  
  
Snake whipped around upon feeling the ground shake and hearing glass shatter. On the second floor, he could see a wall blast outward, showering the snow with shards of bloodstained death. Mei Ling turned also, her eyes filled with horror. "They...they were on the second floor!" Mei Ling cried as she fell to her knees in the snow. There was a twisting in Snake's stomach, but it quickly died away as he set his hand on her shoulder.  
  
"This was a diversion," he said. "Come on. We need to get back in there." Mei Ling was in terrible shape. She was not suited for the on-site job, but instead was necessary for field command positions. Snake tugged on her arm, but she did not budge. He looked down at his feet and then turned his head up to the dark sky, sparkling with specks of holy snow. "I know how you feel," he paused, "but you can't stop going. There's a time when you think that things could never get worse...that you're at the very bottom of the pit, and you think there's no way things can ever change again. This day will never be completely washed from your memory, but you don't have to leave it in despair. You have to do something about it. You have to stand up and go back onto the battlefield. The only other way out of here is in a coffin, and I know that's not where you want to be." Mei Ling sat there for another moment before Snake continued. "Come on. We have to go back." She slowly turned her head  
up towards the sky like Snake had done, and then smiled, pushing herself up onto her feet. Snake looked into her eyes and began to see the sternness and the courage that was within her. She was not going to give up. She was stronger than that.  
  
At that, the two hurried off toward Hell's Outpost, moving into the building without any trouble, and making their way to the second floor without any difficulty whatsoever. The soldiers Rogue had asked for had not been assembled around the perimeter of the facilities, and it seemed as if all of the guards had been taken somewhere else. The halls seemed so quiet, and it was obvious that something had gone terribly wrong, but for which side? That was the question.  
  
When the elevator opened on the second floor, Mei Ling and Snake both stepped out cautiously, a cloud of smoke shrouding their vision. They stepped into the hall, turned right, and found the wall to their right to be missing. There was a flame at the end of the hallway, spreading toward them, and at their feet was a bloodied body lying on the threshold of another room. Mei Ling saw it and gasped, closing her eyes for a moment, only to open them again when she felt Snake's hand on her shoulder. She nodded up to him, and the two made their way over the body, moving into the other room. The far wall was also missing, but it was of concrete, and past it was a sight of horror.  
  
Blood stained the walls that remained, along with the floor, and there were still pieces of flesh and oozing insides scattered about the area. Snake went ahead, stopping where the wall should have been, and looking around. It seemed that it was another hall, and it ran adjacent to the one they were in moment ago, because there was a fire to his right, just like there had been in front of him in the last. He turned to Mei Ling and waved her over as he stepped into the hall and hurried to the left.  
  
"Damn," he grunted. "Whose blood is this?" He was frustrated. Of his friends, and his foes, he was certain that his friend would be on the second floor, and he was somewhat fearful that the blood belonged to them. Still, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was that of his enemy.  
  
"Snake..." a voice growled from behind. Snake turned to its origin and saw a man standing there, a sword in his hand, and a biomechanical suit covering the entirety of his body. The flames to his right glimmered on his suit, and made the colors blend and shine magnificently. "It's you, Snake," Grey Fox, the Ninja...Frank Jaeger said.  
  
Snake lifted his SOCOM, aiming it at the Ninja's forehead and waited for something to happen, but nothing did. He looked out of the corner of his eye to see Mei Ling standing proud and humble beside him, then his eyes returned to the Ninja and he slowly returned the gun to his hip. There was a synthesized-sounding laugh that sounded from deep within the casing the Ninja wore. "I...can almost remember you...Snake. It's...hard...but I can....I can..." Before the Ninja could continue, his arms shot forward making a terrible sound as if they had been removed from their sockets. His head began to twitch violently, and he fell onto his knee. There was a quick impulse, and his hands clenched his head tightly, trying to keep it from shaking as it did. His entire body was quivering as Snake and Mei Ling took slow steps backward. "I don't! I don't remember you! You are an enemy! NO! No, you...you are SNAKE! YOU ARE HIM! I...AHHH!!" In a flash, he catapulted backward into the air, and  
in an odd fashion, darted through it, disappearing into another hallway. Snake sighed.  
  
"What the hell?" he asked himself. Mei Ling shot a look at him.  
  
"That...that was the Ninja?" She remembered him from Shadow Moses. There, he was known as Deepthroat, and as Olga on the Big Shell, it was Mr. X. Snake turned, continuing on their route and nodded subtly as he walked. Mei Ling caught up with him and as they turned another corner, they found themselves facing a team of Philosophy soldiers, their weapons aimed between their eyes. Snake raised his SOCOM, but as he held it level with their faces, there was a loud noise, and the SOCOM was flung from Snake's hands, clamoring against the wall to their left. A familiar voice sounded at the end of a gap in the crowd of soldiers.  
  
"You fight the masses before the masters?" Ocelot's offbeat tone awakened as Snake took notice to him. In his hand was a Revolver, held high, and aimed at Snake, but he quickly holstered it and stepped toward the two, a smile on his face. The soldiers still had their guns aimed high and ready. "A pity you couldn't save your friend...just seconds too late."  
  
"Ocelot," Snake muttered, "where are they?"  
  
"First, let us all bow our heads in prayer for the late...Rogue," Ocelot cackled silently. "He never was a team player. He will...be missed."  
  
"Wait," Snake paused. "That blood...it was his. You killed your own partner."  
  
"Someday you thank me for it, Snake," Ocelot grinned, and then turned away. "Follow," he said, and the soldiers around him quickly nudged Mei Ling and Snake forward behind Ocelot who moved down the hall to a door on their left. Upon opening it, a cold draft flowed over them all, and he motioned for them to enter. "Ladies first," he said, and Mei Ling was pushed into the room, then Snake, and after the soldiers went Ocelot.  
  
"I hope you don't mind the cold," Ocelot smiled, "we have a body that needs preserving." The door closed behind them, and a soldier brought forth an octagonal cage. Final preparations were complete. The show was about to begin. 


	21. Hell's Messenger

Chapter Twenty-One: Hell's Messenger  
  
"We are gathered here, today, in celebration of the resurrection of the late Socrates," Ocelot spoke as Snake and Mei Ling were pushed to the walls. Around a long table were seated their closest friends: Otacon, Jack, Naomi, and another figure that was apparently that of Mimic. In the center of the table was a body, covered by a white sheet that draped over the edges of the table. Ocelot took the Perfect Cell's cage in his hand and walked over to the table, standing opposite Snake and Mei Ling, along with their friends.  
  
"Before we begin, I would like to thank our visitors for being present on this eventful morning. It is...precisely 4:05. On such short notice, we must be thankful of their presence," Ocelot sported a menacing grin as Snake's eyes scanned the room for familiar faces. In the corner was one he had not seen before, but the voice he had: it was Desperado, a shotgun set against the wall beside him, and his sniper wall still slung over his right shoulder. He looked back at Snake and smiled, his eyes moving to Otacon. His face said `I got him, didn't I, Snake?' and it made him turn away in disgrace.  
  
"What are we still alive for?" Jack asked, breaking a short silence. Ocelot set the octagonal cage on the tale beside the body of Socrates, and stepped around it, pacing with his hand on his chin, massaging it in thought.  
  
"You see," he paused, "while the role you play is not as prominent as my own, every play requires and audience. You serve as my audience...an audience to a monumental accomplishment that will be presented with the help of our present science wiz." Otacon looked down at the table shamefully, and Ocelot continued. "You see the show must go on, and in order to do so, we must have someone here to watch it. Without a fair share of critics, `Philosophy and the Philosopher' will be just another high-school disaster." He waited, journeying all the way around the table, passing by Snake and Mei Ling with a terrible look of cruel satisfaction on his face. "In time," he said, his feet set firmly in the carpeted floor, and his hand now gripping the cage of the Perfect Cell, "you will come to understand, but the conclusion is not now. There is much of the exposition to be played out. Soon, my friends...very soon."  
  
A triumphant smile on his face, Ocelot lifted the white sheet from Socrates' body, exposing his bare chest and head, and laid his hand over his breast. "Rise!" he cried, and pulled from his hip a long blade, slashed into Socrates' chest, split the skin aside, and squeezed the cage in his other hand, the bottom plate of the cage disappearing.  
  
The Perfect Cell slowly floated downward, and as it plunged into the bloody depths of the specimen's body, the `audience' turned away with the exception of Snake and Otacon whose eyes were pasted to the image. Suddenly, a golden wave washed over them all, and the Perfect Cell shot up into the cage like a bat out of hell, the bottom plate appearing again, and closing it safely within.  
  
Ocelot tossed it behind him, and watched closely as the wound in his chest sealed unnaturally. Then, once it had gone, and the blood that stained his body disappeared, two dark green pupils emerged from beneath the eyelids of Socrates, and his head lifted, along with his torso. He turned to his left and then to his right, seeing Ocelot there beside him.  
  
Looking ahead, Socrates looked somewhat uneasy, but then, out of the dead silence, he spoke. "By my own creation...I have been murdered...and have risen again." His voice was whimsical, and his eyes were full of mystery. There was no shiny black in them, but an eerie green glow. He was not normal...not normal at all.  
  
Everyone turned back to him as he spoke, and they all seemed drawn to his eyes. "Where are my brethren?" he asked coldly, and Ocelot looked at him in disappointment.  
  
"Turret has fallen, but the three others live on. I too, am at your side," Ocelot said. Socrates looked at him in a peculiar fashion.  
  
"What is your name? I cannot remember you," he asked.  
  
"I am Shalashaska - Revolver Ocelot. I have returned to you, life," he answered, promptly. Ocelot had not been part of Philosophy, originally, but had only joined for this particular operation, hence Socrates' confusion.  
  
"Call my brethren. I wish for them to see my glory returned," Socrates ordered, and Ocelot nodded in return. He faced a soldier and nodded to him as well. The soldier lifted his radio and sent a call, and within seconds, three figures had stepped into the room through a door at the other end of the room.  
  
The first seemed to glide: Little Mary, but the other two were shady. One wore a top hat, and was dressed in a black jacket, a white undershirt, a black bow tie, and black pants with a fine crease down their sides. He carried a pair of sunglasses, and grinned a dark grin at the company. The other stepped in, and to their horror they recognized his face.  
  
He held a small rag and was dabbing at a red substance on his chest and on his forehead. Desperado smiled at Snake when he shot from the character to Desperado. "Farrel!" Jack cried. The man was indeed Farrel, and as he stared them down, they felt a terrible knot forming in their stomachs.  
  
"Master Socrates," Farrel said, moving ahead of the others. "It is an unbelievable pleasure to see you again." The company was still in awe at his unexpected arrival, and as his lips touched Socrates' hand, they turned away in disgust.  
  
The next two did the same, kissing his hand, and then stood (floated in Little Mary's case) beside him. Ocelot smiled at Socrates, and then turned to the company that sat appalled. "You had not expected your dear commander to show up, had you?" Ocelot gave a short chuckle and continued, stepping around the table. "A week after the Arsenal Incident, I confronted him. As the leader of the acclaimed `Philosophy,' I thought that his assistance with the operation, along with my supply of soldiers and other necessities, would make for a nice deal. We quickly formulated a background for People's Will, and hired some of the specialists who would fit our requirements."  
  
"Requirements?" Snake questioned.  
  
"Mimic was assigned to the mission to act as a dummy of the first body. We would use him in the trade of money and corpse. Then, Mei Ling and Naomi were added to the roster. Farrel set them on the front line because of their inexperience, crippling the functions of People's Will greatly. Then, we hired Jack, and created a clone to frame him for his actions. Lastly, Operator was put up to the job in order to take photos of the operation, but little did the rest of you know that she was not an opposition of the Patriots. Instead, she was working under me. Her assistance was one we needed to help with confirmation of People's Will's involvements. Like before...completely orchestrated." Snake wanted so badly to tear Ocelot limb from limb, but he knew that that would be impossible, seeing the number of guards in the room with him.  
  
"What will the Hell Cell accomplish?" Snake added, and Socrates broke into the conversation with an answer of his own.  
  
"The Hell Cell and the Perfect Cell together can decimate an entire continent. The initial blast can wipe out anything and everything in a range of nearly 600 miles radius. But, after nearly ten years, the reaction will have continued to eat, and after 100 years, all of the world's oxygen will have been depleted, and their source will then die away also. With them, we can do anything we wish. We will rule the world," he sneered. Many had thought him to be a genius, but he was mad. He was out of his mind. Somehow, he had become thirsty for power, thirsty for control. He was no scientist. Otacon was a scientist. Socrates was nothing more than a vicious dictator with the intent of saving his ass before he saved others.  
  
He was Hell's Messenger...and his nest...Hell's Outpost. 


	22. An Enemy's Armor

Chapter Twenty-Two: An Enemy's Armor  
  
It was a bountiful offer, those short moments of peace and quiet that Revolver Ocelot then granted them all before rising from his chair in the corner of the room and grinning broadly, shattering their peaceful dreams and hopes. Socrates had been clothed, and sat at the end of the table, his colleagues from Philosophy standing behind him. "Now, we must set our plans in motion," Ocelot said, addressing everyone.  
  
"Socrates, as soon as we have taken care of the first trade, we can move onto your end of the work." Ocelot checked his pocket watch and grinned, putting it back into his pocket. "They will be here in no more than a half an hour. We can't have them waiting," he said, his eyes falling over Mimic who sat without motion in a nearby chair. "Farrel," he continued, "setup a transmission with the Pentagon. We must sort out any last minute arrangements." Farrel nodded and then touched Socrates on the shoulder before backing out of the room.  
  
Socrates looked up at Ocelot. "Tell me, Shalashaska. Why are you helping Philosophy?" Ocelot looked back at him with a discouraged sneer on his face. He mumbled a few words that no one was able to make out and then put on a smile as he explained his intentions for becoming involved with the Hell Cell and the Perfect Cell.  
  
"Power is what I crave," he put it rather simply. "Power is my motivation." His words were not off mark. He didn't hold an elaborate plan, but instead he wished for power, and the odds were on his side: anyone who possessed the Perfect and Hell Cells would surely be recognized as a man of power, and in the future, anyone who did not, would be recognized as a slave. Snake cringed at Ocelot's answer and went on observing the room as Socrates continued to interview his new colleague.  
  
"Do you fear your craving has misguided you?" Socrates asked, pushing away from the desk and taking a stand at the end of the table. Ocelot cocked his head, an odd look on his face...a fake face. It was innocence, and anyone who knew Ocelot knew he was nothing but sinful. There wasn't a drop of innocence in him. He was all cruelty. That was all he stood for.  
  
"I believe that my craving is controllable," he proclaimed, nonchalantly, stepping toward Socrates as he spoke. "I have managed to harness my own ambition in the past, and this is no different. With power, I am not blinded. It is a dull light...one only bright enough to draw me to it. Once it is a lantern in my palm, it is my own, and I become the beacon. The lantern becomes my fist, my tool. No...no, my craving has not misguided me." Socrates stopped walking, as did Ocelot, and they both stood there in wait, their eyes drawn to each other's eyes. Ocelot saw green, while Socrates saw red...the fires of hell licking at his heart. Of the two, Socrates was misguided. Ocelot was insane...driven insane by his own trepidation, by his own dying soul. The difference? Socrates was a messenger: Ocelot was his master. Even as Ocelot stood there, his power in appearance no greater than Socrates', it was apparent that he was in control. Whether either of them knew it, Ocelot's wish was  
Socrates' command.  
  
"The link's up," Farrel called, stepping into the room to notice the fairly awkward moment. Socrates watched Ocelot who looked around him to nod in assurance of his request. "I'll patch you through to them on the main intercom system," Farrel said, retreating into the other room again. Socrates watched Ocelot closely.  
  
"Do not lose sight of our goal," he said, but Ocelot ignored him altogether, turning to the company and waving his revolver at them. "Don't let me hear a sound from you," Ocelot said, the company's eyes glued to his weapon.  
  
Farrel stepped back in, making a gesture to Ocelot with his hand. Ocelot nodded and began pacing back and forth as if the Pentagon was sitting before him. "Good morning, Senator," Ocelot growled. There was a moment's hesitation on the other end, and some sort of feedback error that delayed the response, but when one did come, it was firm.  
  
"One chopper. Four extraction agents, two pilots, one sniper, and a bag of cash," the man said before taking a breath. "Pull something funny, and your money vanishes." Ocelot snickered at his threat.  
  
"Please, Senator, don't take me for a fool," he chuckled. "As long as your end of the deal holds, mine does the same. Now, Senator, make sure that sniper isn't in the chopper when they try to land, or else you'll have one very large crime scene to investigate following our rise to power."  
  
"So you have the Perfect Cell?" The Senator stated almost triumphantly. Ocelot grunted.  
  
"You would like to know...but until the trade has passed, the lights must remain off," Ocelot pursued. "Get the sniper off of the chopper. Over and out, Senator." Farrel disconnected the transmission before the `Senator' had a chance of returning conversation, and Ocelot quickly turned to Mimic who sat, his eyes wide, but his body without sign of movement. "Move him to the first floor. I want our choppers in the air, patrolling the area. Make sure he's sleeping well enough when they drop in. I don't want our friend pulling the trigger on a gun that shouldn't be there, but no doubt, if they sense anything funny...Desperado," Ocelot said, soldiers swarming Mimic and carrying him kicking and struggling out of the room. "Desperado, could you move to the Spire?" He waited until Mimic was gone, and the door was closed. "There should be a Stinger in a closet...third floor. I don't want them leaving with a sniper in their back seat. As soon as we turn our backs, we'll all have  
bullet-holes in the back of our heads." Desperado nodded, understanding Ocelot's request.  
  
"You think they're really gonna throw him out and let him hitch-hike home?" Snake commented, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Ocelot looked at him with a frenzied delight.  
  
"He speaks," he said, laughing. "You see, Snake, we're going to shoot them down so that the sniper, who will still be in the chopper, doesn't get the chance to pop us a few. And whether they drop him off or not, that helicopter wont make it back to the capital." Snake shook his head in disgust.  
  
"So, now we wait?" he questioned.  
  
"Actually, Snake, yes. We wait until the trade is successful, and then we move to the basement and observe as our good friend Socrates constructs the Hell Cell. And then," Ocelot grinned, "we have a little fun." Snake recognized the glint of enjoyment in Ocelot's eyes, and could sense torture on the brink. Even if there was nothing for him to get from Snake, Ocelot would still put him through a series of rigorous torture exercises. He enjoyed it. He laughed as he killed. He had FUN committing murder. He was sick.  
  
"Desperado," Ocelot queued for him to begin out the door, and at his tone, he stepped into the hall and disappeared on his way to the Spire where he would watch and wait. The helicopter would be there soon. "Let us move to a more suitable room, from where we can watch the trade," Ocelot insisted, and they slowly moved out of the conference room and into a window-walled room that looked over the helipad at the entrance of the building. Socrates and his Philosophy friends took a few more minutes to catch up, but were soon standing beside them as they looked over the snow. Snake looked over to Mei Ling who was subtly crying, having seen where Operator was laying earlier. The bloodstain was faint, but it was there. Snake was mesmerized. The lights...spotlights were searching in every direction, watching like glowing eyes in the middle of night. With the first light of day, which just barely snuck over the tops of the mountains, Ocelot took sight of a helicopter moving toward  
them in the distance, and he could see out of the corner of his eye, a body resembling the Ninja's being covered in a white sheet on a stretcher.  
  
"The corpse is accounted for," Ocelot muttered as the helicopter came closer. The morning's first light would remain just as faint for almost an hour until the sun had risen over the peaks and the valleys, and only then would they see the truth shine through. Secrets still lay dormant, and as light was born, the chariot of death neared Mimic, Desperado's eyes set into the morning sky.  
  
There was a crackling sound emanating from Ocelot's hip. Quickly, he drew his radio and answered the call. "Yes?"  
  
"It's Desperado," he replied. "They're coming in slow."  
  
They waited. The moment seemed to last a lifetime for Desperado, but he had experienced many. He was a sniper, a quick-shot, and a Rambo. He had experienced every scenario, every situation, and this one was no different. Still, the chopper moved slower than they expected, confirming the belief that a sniper was onboard, honing in on any and all possible targets. Desperado watched...he waited.  
  
"Keep your eyes peeled," he said, watching intently, as the helicopter moved over the helipad and slowly descended, moving in a circle as it dropped. Three soldiers stood beside Mimic's covered body at the edge of the helipad, and every spotlight in the area was watching the chopper as it slowed and touched down on the pad. Otacon shook his head and Jack watched, hoping that the sniper would put a hole through Ocelot's forehead, as he stood right beside him. He wished so badly for the sniper to get a good shot.  
  
Desperado wavered not an inch from his target. As the door slid open, and an extraction team checked the body, uncovering it, and nodding their heads, gesturing for someone to bring forth the money. Desperado saw them. There were four men on the ground...who would bring out the money if they were the only ones there?  
  
Desperado pulled the trigger of the Stinger, the glass wall shattering around him as the missile sped toward the chopper. Quickly, before it impacted, Ocelot's eyes shot up to Desperado in disbelief and one shot was fired from the depths of the chopper. As the helipad was covered with flames, and smothered in a sea of burning red and orange, the glass wall that separated the company from the bitter cold broke in one 2 inch x 2 inch hole. Everyone turned their heads, and falling into the arms of Ocelot was Otacon, a bullet stuck in his chest. An enemy's armor... 


	23. No Man's Land

Chapter Twenty-Three: No Man's Land  
  
  
  
Ocelot looked at Otacon who lay unconscious or dead in his arms. Snake rushed to them, but two soldiers blocked his way, pushing him back. He struggled, "Otacon!" he would yell, and the soldiers would continue to shove him this way and that. Quickly he went for his gun, but a strand of string caught hold of his SOCOM, drawing it into the hands of Little Mary. Her eyes twinkled with gleaming paint, and Snake snared at her, infuriated. "Damn you! God fucking damn you! Otacon!" The soldiers pushed him one last time, against the glass wall and it began to crack as he pushed back off of it. Ocelot's eyes shot up to Snake as he saw Jack attempt to get closer to Otacon, and the women cry.  
  
"Desperado," he said, speaking into his radio with a tone that reeked of annoyance. "Desperado, what the hell was that?!" There was a moment's hesitation before his Russian friend replied, his tone apologetic, but firm.  
  
"I saw the sniper. I saw him line up for a shot," he answered. "Be thankful, friend. Had he pulled it off, you could be dead," he said before setting the Stinger against the wall and stepping out of the hallway and toward the stairs.  
  
"He did pull the shot off," Ocelot said, and Desperado halted where he stood. "Otacon is out. He's dead." Desperado warily turned, throwing his sniper rifle to the floor, its scope breaking from the base, and shattering about the floor. He looked down on it in anger, his eyes full of hate. He had pulled the trigger too late. Had it been his sniper rifle, that shot wouldn't have made it, but instead he had used the Stinger. Damn.  
  
"Then our –," Desperado began.  
  
"No," Ocelot replied with confidence. "There will be no changes. We will proceed as planned. Do remember, we have the Perfect Cell right here," he grinned, stepping to the conference room, and peeking inside. His face went cold, his eyes wide, and his fists tight. The Perfect Cell was nowhere to be found.  
  
"Looking for this?" Socrates taunted, standing behind Ocelot with the Perfect Cell hovering inside the cage that sat in the palm of his hand. Ocelot's face was a mix of anger and confinement. He could not show his fury, for if he did, he would never have the Perfect Cell back. "Remember who you're dealing with. I am in control, Shalashaska. If you plan to revive me and run the show, you have another thing coming to you." The two stood there like opponents, staring each other down. "I'll hold onto this until the Hell Cell has been constructed. Then, we will discuss further plans."  
  
Ocelot dug out his pocket watch, analyzing the time before sinking it back into the cloth of his pants and looking up at Socrates again. "You have one hour. I will show you to your quarters, and you will get to work."  
  
"No one orders me, Shalashaska," he paused, "but I will have it finished in an hour. Don't you worry." The air was stale and the moment was cold, but in the hall where Otacon laid, his eyes pale and his hand over his wound. Snake looked at him, resentment full in his eyes. Why hadn't he stopped this from happening? Why did the Patriots want him? Damn.  
  
"Otacon," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and falling onto the floor, his head in his hands. Snake was not one to grieve over death, but Otacon…he had been with him ever since Shadow Moses. In the past years, the two had bonded and had become more than partners, they had become friends, and with one booming explosion of a gun, their friendship had shattered, had been torn, and was no more. Snake's eyes sought the life in Otacon, but as they searched, there was none to be found. He dropped his head between his knees and sat. Quiet. Still. Dead. He had not felt the pierce of a bullet, but he had felt it in Otacon, and as Otacon died, so did he.  
  
"We are to continue with the operation as planned," Socrates called as he stepped into the hall, his body without dread or remorse. The death of Otacon was nothing to him. "There is only one adjustment. The four of you," he said, gesturing to Jack, Snake, Mei Ling, and Naomi, "will be confined to a cell in the sub-level of Outpost. I will not tolerate any further escapades," he said, Ocelot turning to him, enraged.  
  
"We had a deal!" Ocelot cried. "They will be present for the ceremony!" Socrates' hand went up as he faced Ocelot with an apprehensive glare.  
  
"I never agreed to such a thing," he grinned. "As the philosopher of Philosophy, I will direct this operation until further instructions. Shalashaska, you are but a minion. A mastermind, you thought you were, but you still level out to nothing more than my messenger...my tool." Ocelot was taken with anger, but it appeared at that moment, that the tables of control had been turned. Who was once the master, was now the messenger.  
  
"Now let us be going," Socrates cut the silence, but the stillness remained. "Well? Is anyone willing to guide me to the labs?" He put out his arms, expecting someone to come forth, but no one did. "Ocelot," he waved, "you'll be my guide. Come." Ocelot was hesitant, but seeing as he could only gain the upper hand if he was able to regain some trust in Socrates, he followed, but turned as a figure stepped into the hall behind them.  
  
"Why?!" the voice cried, and Snake's eyes found the figure, recognizing it to be the Ninja. His sword was gripped tightly in his hand as he threw his other arm forward, his palm stretched out toward Ocelot. Then, he looked to his right, noticing Snake. "You!" he cried. "You did this! Why couldn't you just let me sleep…let me be dead! Why must you have awaken me?!" He swung his sword upward, and as he did, the soldiers by Snake opened fire, but to their disbelief, the Ninja rebounded many of their shots, and began to dart through the air in an odd fashion.  
  
In a swift movement, he landed before two awestruck soldiers, and swung his sword only once, parting their stomachs, and letting their insides pour onto the cold floor as they toppled to it. The scene left three guards, all of which ere guarding the other members of 'People's Will' and 'CODE,' and at the end of the hall, Ocelot stood, a glint of horror in his eyes, and a look of enjoyment too immense to hide. Socrates was beside him, and without a weapon in hand, nudged Ocelot who then pulled forth his pocket watch, examining it closely.  
  
As he touched, the time adjusting knob on its end, holographic menus and images appeared, hovering over the glassy wall of the watch. Ocelot looked from them to the Ninja who was stepping toward Snake, but waited, hoping to see a show of great proportions play out before him, but Little Mary interfered, and as her string entangled the Ninja, the sword slashed through it, and then, found its way into the heart of Little Mary, a screech unlike any other calling from the depths of her hollow body.  
  
Click. Ocelot pressed his finger on a holographic image, and the Ninja began to grab his head, a strikingly horrific invisible hand working its way through his body, gutting him, tearing his muscles, crushing his skull, smashing his brain to a pool of shattered memories. Snake looked at him in pain. To see him in such agony hurt both of them, and he quickly analyzed the moment of commotion.  
  
Three guards remained, two agents of Philosophy remained unhindered, and at the end of the hall stood two infamous men, their minds convoluted with sin, and their goals filled with hate. If he could retrieve a weapon…  
  
Quickly, the Ninja looked at him, pain filling the single red glow in the center of his face. His hand stretched out, and then he felt a rush of instinct, which stirred a sort of knowing inside of him. He realized that Snake had nothing to do with this corruption, and in that moment, he took his sword and threw it up to him. Snake caught it, looked to Jack, and tossed it to him. Jack took it in his hands and turned to the guards, demonstrating his fancywork by holding them all at a stalemate. The remaining Philosophy members glared at Ocelot in question, and Socrates turned to them with an answer. Kill.  
  
Snake drew forth a gun from each soldier at his feet, throwing one to Naomi, and aiming his own at Ocelot. Naomi caught hers, confidently moving the crosshairs over Socrates' forehead, and Jack slipped his Hammerli 280 from its holster, and tossed it to Mei Ling who nervously pointed it in the direction of Farrel and the other Philosophy member who wore the top hat and suit. Her hands shook, but they were in control. The tables had turned again.  
  
"Jack," Snake said, looking down at Otacon's pale body, "rope. You have rope?" Jack looked at him out of the corner of his eye with a questioning look spread about his face.  
  
"Rope?" he asked, and Snake looked down at the Ninja who lay crippled on the floor, his body shaking uncontrollably. "Sorry, rope wasn't something I considered to be necessity."  
  
Snake turned to the glass wall and quickly fired a few shots. It fell apart, the shards falling to the snow at the foot of the building. He looked out, bracing himself – his hand positioned on a cement column. He looked down, turned back to Ocelot, and grinned.  
  
"Always be prepared," he said. "Scout motto." He whipped around, crouching on the floor, facing the Ninja who tried to look back up at him. There was sadness between them. A deep, impenetrable connection. Like Otacon, whatever hurt one of them, hurt the other. Snake laid his hand on the Ninja's shoulder, and he nodded back. "We'll have to jump, then," Snake said, standing. He peered out over the snow-battered lands, and turned back to his company.  
  
They nodded in approval. Though the idea was not very probable, the company saw no better chance for escape, and standing where they were would only put them in a stalemate. They had to move. "Lady's first," Snake said, and Mei Ling and Naomi moved over to the broken wall, their guns never straying from their targets. They shot looks at each other after guessing the distance to the ground. Before they jumped, though, Jack also moved over to the wall, his eyes standing still on Otacon. "Don't worry," Snake said, sensing his fear of what might happen to Otacon if they abandoned him. Jack reluctantly washed the thoughts from his mind and the four huddled close together, their weapons pointed in every direction, holding their enemies off with three guns and a sword.  
  
"Let him go," Snake called to Ocelot, referring to the Ninja who lay at their feet. Ocelot's eyes stung with hatred and he sneered at Snake in contradiction of his orders. Still, he nodded hesitantly, and pushed something in his holographic menu. Suddenly, the Ninja became loose, but in an instant, shot onto his feet, gripping his arms. Snake and he locked gazes, and Jack tapped the biomechanical suit, gathering the Ninja's attention. He turned, and Jack held out the sword. Nodding to them all, the Ninja gripped the sword and darted into the air, and out of the room. Snake looked at the others, and closed his eyes. "Let's drop."  
  
Without turning from their targets, the four jumped backwards out of the hole in the glass wall, falling blindly to the stiff, frozen ground. Naomi and Mei Ling managed to easily land, curling their leg under their chests, but Jack stumbled as he dropped, and Snake forgot to bend his knees, leaving a stinging pain in his legs. As Snake looked up to the second floor, expecting to see the team drop down upon them, he saw Ocelot grin and then turn away from the edge as a voice sounded behind them. "Where are you headed?"  
  
As they all turned, they were not surprised to see the figure of Desperado standing before them in the snow. He held a shotgun in his left hand and a UMP 450 in the other. A devilish glare was pasted about his face, and as they all seemed to await battle, their weapons tightly gripped, Snake put out his hand. "Go on to the Spire," he said, and they turned to him: one eye on Snake, the other on Desperado. "No questions. Just get to the Spire," he paused. "Now!"  
  
Jack stepped over to Snake, set a hand on his shoulder, and then turned away, walking around Desperado, Mei Ling and Naomi at his side. As they vanished from sight in the winding storm of snow and ice, they left Snake and Desperado there, standing no more than ten meters apart, their hands tight about their guns. "Let us not waste time," Desperado glared.  
  
In the cold of the coming morning, the two stood there, eyes pasted to each other. The only thing that dared to accompany them was the snow. The atmosphere in which they stalked was deadly, and no soul ever wished to set foot on such land. That land…not the greatest of evils deserved the fate that lay there. It was a land for no man. It was No Man's Land. 


	24. And There was Silence

Chapter Twenty-Four: And There was Silence  
  
  
  
Desperado grinned, and without warning raised his shotgun and fired. Snake jumped aside, falling onto his back and doing a summersault to find his footing again. By the time he had stood, Desperado shot again, and as Snake dodged it, another shot was fired. Snake dove into the snow, turning his body as he glided through the air, and aimed at Desperado with his SOCOM, pulling the trigger numerous times. Desperado twirled and recovered from the onslaught of fire, raising his UMP 450 and pointing it at Snake who had again made his way onto his feet.  
  
Snake pulled cranked out as many shots as he could before the hollow clicking sound warned him to slip in a new magazine. Desperado's index finger curled around the trigger of his UMP and a wave of bullets ran through the air like fickle elves in flight. Snake ran straight, the bullets missing him as he reloaded his SOCOM and turned where he stood, firing six shots, all but one missing Desperado with comfort. The one that did find its way to him struck his UMP and knocked it from his hand.  
  
Desperado quickly threw aside his shotgun, pulling forth Dual Beretta's and striking the cold air with their silver bullets. Snake felt the wind stir around him as they missed, and he stepped to his left, firing two more shots before he had to reload once again. But, as he fumbled for another magazine he found that the SOCOM had been jerked out of his hand by the force of a precisely aimed shot. Desperado's arms outstretched, he grinned as Snake looked up.  
  
"You're too slow," Desperado snickered. "You could use these if you'd like." Twirling his Dual Beretta's with skill, he holstered them and pulled forth a pair of Desert Eagles, tossing them to Snake as he rearmed himself with the Beretta's. Snake felt the guns weigh heavy in his hands, and as his hands felt the heaviness, so did his heart.  
  
He looked down at them, his eyes beginning to burn and swell, not from the cold, but from the memories. Memories of Meryl. He remembered the days of Shadow Moses like they were yesterday, not even taking notice to the Arsenal incident. He hadn't found love hitched with Arsenal, but the frigid cold of Alaska had sprouted one more unlikely than any. But as he remembered their newborn love, he remembered what had shattered it, what had made Meryl just like everyone else he had met. She had died.  
  
More painful than seeing her shot down on the stretch to Sniper Wolf's tower was knowing how he – Solid Snake – had killed her. He had tried to hold out to Ocelot's torture, he did everything he could to resist, but he had felt his heart giving out, and if he had died, she would have also. Still…he'd killed her. It was no one's fault but his own.  
  
"Oh, come on, Snake!" Desperado cried, his Beretta's held high as he waited for Snake to look up from the Desert eagles that lay in his palms. And he did. As Desperado wanted him to, Snake lifted his head and stared deep into the man's eyes, his own burning as tears streamed from them, down his cheeks, and over his scruffy chin, being lost in the tangle of prickly hair.  
  
He raised his Desert Eagles, and he cried, "Meryl!" Jack, Mei Ling, and Naomi had turned as they were stepping into the Spire, and could see flashes of light. The battle had begun. Desperado fired blindly as he ran to the right, and Snake did the same as he moved left. None of their bullets managed to graze the others' skin, but Snake quickly spotted the helipad not far away, and ran for it, his guns blazing as he dove behind it, burning rubble all around him. The helipad was like the memory of a battlefield, bodies symbolized by metal, strewn about the ground, and flames still burning from past explosions reminiscent in the early morning.  
  
He hid himself behind the pad, and could hear Desperado stepping toward him in a quickened walk. He could hear guns twirling, and heard them slip into a holster as two more were brought forth. As he slipped in full magazines, Snake recognized the sound they made and identified them to be Uzi's. Snake realized the emptiness of his own magazine and examined his guns, taking notice to the things taped along their heads. On both sides of each gun was a full magazine, and as Snake let the empty one slip out, reloading his Desert Eagles for another round of Pin the Tail on the Donkey, he heard Desperado turn. Snake curled against the side of the pad as the snow where he had laid moments earlier was flung through the air and replaced by ugly patches of mud and frozen dirt. He'd heard Snake reload.  
  
"Three!" Snake cried as he flipped onto his feet, firing his Desert Eagles with confidence in Desperado's direction. The cry of the Uzi returned the fire ten times greater than before, and Snake could hear the whizzing of the bullets passing by his ears and ricocheting off of the burning shards of metal around him.  
  
Then, both of them dove behind two large walls of metal, and sat against them, reloading their weapons. Desperado's voice was the first to call. "You have a nice shot," he said.  
  
"Hmph," Snake replied. "You don't use those techno-toys like your big bud, eh?" Snake slipped in the last magazines available and waited for a reply.  
  
"Techno-toys, eh?" Desperado questioned, slipping in two fresh magazines. "No, no. I play fair. Ocelot plays dirty, but he plays with courage."  
  
"Is that what they call it?" Snake retorted, furiously. "I seem to remember it as torture."  
  
"Torture?" Deperado laughed. "Old Ocelot is not so cruel as to induce torture. You have thought wrong, Solid Snake."  
  
"You're being fooled, Desperado," Snake answered. "But as long as you believe those delusions, you'll remain a puppet. Just a puppet." Snake heard the pound on metal opposite him, and he stood, raising his Desert Eagles as Desperado did the same.  
  
It seemed as if neither of them pulled off a single shot. Snake was frozen in awe, and Desperado was frozen in pain. "Gah!" he cried as he cuddled his stub of an arm close to his chest. Behind him stood the Ninja, a blade soaked with blood in his hands, and a malicious grin on his masked face.  
  
"I took the hand of Ocelot," he said, "and now I take your own." Desperado spun around, pulling his sniper rifle over his shoulder and into his hand. He fired one shot and the Ninja stumbled backward as Snake jumped over the wall of metal and hurried toward them. Desperado turned back and dropped his rifle at his feet, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he fell beside it. There was so much blood seeping from his arm that he had fainted, but to him, the other world was more peaceful, less painful.  
  
"Frank!" Snake called as he watched the Ninja regain his footing, his hand over a wound in his stomach. Snake pulled his hand away and could see the biomechanical suit begin to rebuild itself, a green light glowing about the wound as the armor 'grew.' "What the hell?" Snake questioned and the Ninja lowered his head as if put to shame.  
  
In an instant, Snake turned back to Desperado, and pulled the bandana from his forehead, tying it around the end of his arm, where the blood ran freely. As he tied it, he shot looks up at the Ninja, his old friend, his old enemy. "Go," he said, hurriedly. "Your sister is heading for the Spire. Go and keep watch over them." The Ninja didn't move. "Frank – !"  
  
"It is what they want Otacon for," the Ninja proclaimed. "This regenerative ability…they want him for –," Snake cut in.  
  
"Get to Naomi! Make sure they are safe. I'll be there soon, I just need to make sure he lives."  
  
"Did I do wrong?" the Ninja asked, innocently. Snake had a hard time returning an answer to this question. He appeared so innocent, and really…he almost was. He had been brought from death and had been forced into a life of killing. He couldn't even understand the things he did. He was like a child.  
  
"Just go," Snake growled, and the Ninja turned on his heel and started off for the Spire. Snake wanted to turn and apologize, but he didn't…he couldn't. He simply tied the bandage about Desperado and waited for any sign of life to return. He waited. And waited. Then, as he laid his face in Desperado's chest, he stood, looked to Hell's Outpost and sighed. "Don't you die."  
  
Snake heard a ring, and put his hand to his ear. "Snake?! Are you okay?" It was Mei Ling. Snake nodded.  
  
"Yea, I'm good."  
  
"We found a door on the first floor. It looks like it leads to some sort of sub-level. We think it might be where Socrates is planning to construct the Hell Cell," Naomi moved in.  
  
"All right," Snake replied. "I have a patient to tend to. Try and get into the sub-level. Can you do that?" Snake waited for an answer, and when Mei Ling's voice returned, it lasted for only a second before a hail of gunfire was unleashed on the other end. Snake ducked down and listened intently for some sign…some clue as to what was happening. "Mei Ling! Naomi!" Then, he heard the screeching voice. It resembled the sound a teacher made when she took her fingernails down a black board. It was high. It was Little Mary.  
  
And then there was silence. 


	25. Six Feet Under

Chapter Twenty-Five: Six Feet Under  
  
  
  
Little Mary was hovering above them, her strands of string extending in every direction as Mei Ling and Naomi took cover behind the flight of stairs that bent all the way to the top of the Spire. Jack had possession of his Hammerli and fired a few shots into the air, but even as they struck Little Mary, they were repelled, leaving no dents or scars. She looked on with the same blank smile as always, and her arm stretched eerily out ahead of her. "Do you see the mark?" she cried in sadness. Jack looked down at her stomach where a deep gauge could be easily spotted. He scowled and threw aside his Hammerli in frustration.  
  
He looked back to Mei Ling and Naomi and then turned to Little Mary who was almost upon him. "Go!" he yelled. "Up the stairs!" They darted past him, and Little Mary took a moment to debate her decision. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she returned to Jack, her eyes becoming cloudy and gray. There was a quick flash, and Jack's arms went up, shielding his eyes. As the light receded, a dark figure stood there, strings still stretched into the opposite abyss that was above them.  
  
Little Mary's paint was smeared, mixed, creating dark browns and black with several splashes of red. Her hair stood up in an odd way, spiking this way and that, and her eyes were more slits than eyes. At the end of her fingers were now long sharp splinters of wood, and her normal smile was a dark, upturned smile. A frown. Beading at the corner of her eye was a crystal blue tear, and it, like the rest of her, was a dab of paint, never to move from where it had been painted in the midst of the light. "They will be next," she hissed, her voice still high, but more slippery than before.  
  
Jack drew a short knife tucked into his boot, and held it ahead of him threateningly. Little Mary thrashed with her long splinters only once, and Jack retreated in pain, a long gash in his forearm. Feeling lightheaded, he stumbled backward under the stairs and Little Mary slowly glided over, her arms held out and her strings sliding with her every move.  
  
Jack watched a shadow linger toward Little Mary. In anticipation, he voiced, "Don't cry until you've felt pain." There was a harsh growl in his voice, his wounded arm tucked under his other. Then, without any notice of what was to come, the shadow shook furiously and Jack ebbed into the darkness in newfound fear. But as he hid under the shadow of the stairs, Little Mary cried into the night a sword sticking out of the front of her chest. Her arms were held up to the ceiling, and as she fell, the strings that bound her broke and she toppled onto the floor as Snake appeared behind the Ninja who stood triumphantly above her.  
  
Suddenly, the Ninja grabbed his head and crumpled onto the floor. Snake called for Jack and he quickly moved beside the Ninja, trying to comfort him any way he could. Snake kneeled down before Little Mary and rolled her over so that he could see her face. It was shattered, a long crack running through it. Snake lifted her onto his knee and she began to speak, her mouth now moving with her voice. It was strange seeing her speak. Truly speak.  
  
"Solid…Solid Snake," she choked and gasped loudly, taking in a great breath of air. "You…came to me?" She seemed to smile, and he looked back, his face unchanging.  
  
"Yea," he muttered very quietly. The Ninja's screaming quickly ended, and he fell limp on the floor, his body ravaged by pains from inside. Naomi stumbled down the stairs upon seeing him there, and Mei Ling slowly came behind. Naomi sat beside the Ninja…her brother, and began to talk. Snake kneeled there still, Little Mary listening to her own heart crumbling.  
  
"Frank," Naomi whispered, her hand set on his shoulder. There was no response. She laid her head on his back, and tried to listen through to his heart as it subtly thumped in his chest. Her hand stayed on his shoulder and a tear slipped from her eye, dropping onto his suit and sizzling away in an instant. "Don't you cry," she breathed. "Don't you cry. Just…just hang in there. Just for a moment longer." She paused. "I bet you'd laugh at me if you saw me crying, right? Heh…yea. I know it's been so long…since I saw you last. You'd tell me just to let go and forget about it…" She stopped then, her eyes closing and pushing two more tears over her cheeks. Little Mary took a deep breath just then, and Snake turned back to her, his concentration shifting from Naomi to her.  
  
"Why…didn't Ocelot come…for me? Why you?" She asked, her eyes wide and the corner of her mouth twitching uncontrollably. Snake's eyes closed for a moment, and he didn't answer. "I…I must get back to him…he can help…" Snake shook his head slowly, and she frowned.  
  
"The term marionette," he began, "came from the name Little Mary. A marionette is a puppet…you're his puppet, his pawn."  
  
"No," she shook her head violently. "No…he loves me!"  
  
"He doesn't love you," Snake said coolly. "Sometimes people just…aren't there for you." Snake's head was heavy, and Little Mary could see he felt pain. Meryl. That was what he thought about. Two Desert Eagles sat in the snow beside Desperado…they were just as he remembered Meryl's. Same engravings it seemed, same shine. He had let her down. He had done all that he could, but he had let her down. Ocelot had done the same to Little Mary, and Snake felt terrible for her. He could make the connection so easily.  
  
"You…feel love?" Little Mary sighed and rolled her head to the side, noticing Naomi and the Ninja. Snake didn't answer. He could sense it, he could tell. Little Mary…she was going to be just like Meryl. Little Mary would become just another memory, lost in the wind. She would die, just as Meryl had, just as Baker had, just as Sniper Wolf had, or Fortune…she'd be just the same as any. "Thank you," she mouthed, no sound coming from her, and Snake's eyes began to swell as her head dropped.  
  
He watched her closely, and could see the paint begin to shimmer. Then, there was a light, and hen he looked back, he saw something roll down her cheek and splash on the floor. Her tear. Snake held her tight, his eyes playing tricks on him. He saw Meryl. "No," he shook his head, and beside him, a loud noise erupted.  
  
Naomi fell back, and the Ninja sprung onto his feet, his sword in hand. He shot a look at Naomi who seemed mesmerized by his unseen smile, and then, in a flash, he was gone. Where he had gone to, none of them knew, and once he had left, their company was still short one: Otacon was still absent.  
  
Mei Ling was beside Naomi, her head rested on Naomi's shoulder, her hand running through Naomi's hair. Jack turned to Snake. Slowly, Snake slid out from under Little Mary, lightly setting her head on the cold, cement floor. He stared at her for moments, and then got onto his feet. Still, he said nothing. No one said anything. There was silence. Silence like he'd heard in the dead of the night after descending from the helicopter. Silence like he'd heard on the Codec only minutes ago. Silence like he'd heard, beating in Little Mary's chest. The silence he'd heard, or more properly, not heard, watching Otacon take his last gulp of air before falling away from them. It was the silence that was present every night that Snake sat in bed, an empty space beside him. The space Meryl should have filled. But the space that she didn't.  
  
"Come on," he said to the others as he started for the door that sat in the floor under the stairs. Naomi looked at him warily, and Mei Ling took her hand, lifting her onto her feet. They looked at each other and started toward him. Jack was different, though. He was alone too. Yes, he had Rose at home, but…he knew the feeling that Snake had to live with every day of his life. That feeling of emptiness.  
  
He looked into Little Mary's now bright eyes, and could see through them…into her. She was hollow…empty…full of pain and trapped frustrations. She felt no love…not until the moment before she died. She shared that love, the only love she possessed, with Snake in her last moments, and then she drifted away, her soul entering a new light. Jack walked to the door as Snake lifted it, and the four of them stepped into the dark abyss.  
  
As they went down, Snake stopped behind the rest; his feet on the sixth step down from the surface. Something stirred inside him and he realized that in that one place he was with Meryl, and with everyone like her.  
  
Six feet under… 


	26. A Formal Invitation

Chapter Twenty-Six: A Formal Invitation  
  
  
  
The hallway was filled with light, Snake's hand resting on a light switch on the right side of the hall. Naomi and Mei Ling turned back in fright, to reassure themselves that Snake and Jack were still there. Snake offered up a fake smile and continued on with them, taking the lead again, and leaving Jack at the end of the line.  
  
Naomi was distraught, Mei Ling and her walking arm in arm through the dimly lit hallway that very much contrasted the bright halls of the upper floors. Snake's mind was wondering to places he had deemed forbidden in his past, assuming they were too dangerous for him to venture into. Truthfully, that was an excuse – nothing more, nothing less. All it did was hurt him more than he'd all ready been hurt, and whenever he tried to think of it, he'd shut it away. It was the only thing he could imagine that frightened him. Yes, the invincible Solid Snake had a fear. It had been dormant for so long, but as he saw Otacon fall before him – his closest friend in the world – he remembered it all…all the pain, all the sorrow…everything he had tried to forget.  
  
To him, Meryl and Otacon were one in the same. In his life, they were the two he was able to connect with beyond work. Meryl was his love, and Otacon was his friend. Surely, he enjoyed the company of Naomi, Mei Ling, and Jack, but…he wasn't close with them like he was with Otacon and Meryl, and both of his closest friends and lovers had died before he had, himself. He had outlived the more cautious and caring of the three, and he was the one willing to take the risks, willing to stand in the way of a bullet for a friend…but really, that wasn't true.  
  
Meryl and Otacon were gone. They were both more caring than Snake, but…that only gave more reason to standing up for him. They both would have taken a bullet for him, and as he walked down the hallway he realized something he had never realized before…he would take a bullet for them too. No, that did not bring either of them back to life, but it changed himself. It didn't change them, but at that moment he was transformed. In the light of truth and love, he shone bright, and he understood himself better than ever before. He understood those around him, and as he walked, he looked around him, examining the all.  
  
Naomi – she had been thrown into a terrible pit when her brother, Frank Jaeger, fell in battle, and she was thrown through an even bigger loop when he returned at Shadow Moses, his life unwillingly returned, and his mind scrambled, making him thirst for blood and violence. She had seen him as a role model, she had seen him as a victim, and she had seen him as a fierce adversary. She had to love him, pity him, and hate him in her fairly short lifetime as it was, and she had done it all, only to love him more when he returned to her again. She was courageous.  
  
Mei Ling – she was young and naïve. She moved with every blow, and took every swing without hindrance, and she continued on, thinking that there was nothing she couldn't do. She was the aspiring teen, the willing spirit, and the guide. Then, one day, she was faced with death. She saw blood trickling through snow, staining it forever more. She witnessed the cold heart of a sinner, and in it all, she wept. She wept without shame, and through the pain, she prevailed. She stepped up to the challenges, and moved with every blow, took every swing. Through it all, she was the same as before: the aspiring teen, the willing spirit, and the guide.  
  
Jack – he had suffered a loss that many could not live with, or bare to expose to others, and in his early days he hid it, trying to keep it secret, trying to imagine it never existed. But it did. He fought innumerable foes; battled hand-to-hand with his own father in a bout that would determine which of the two deserved the right of life. And when it ended, he had survived. He deserved the right to life; he had lived through the trials of his father, of his God, and of his soul. He had faced all there was to face, and he returned to battle, to save more. He was young, and he was free. Free from his bindings, his past. He had dealt with it all, and like Little Mary, he had surpassed his limits and had become individual. Free.  
  
Frank – he had died, had been born again, had died, and had been born again. It seemed more obscure than anything a person could imagine, but it had happened. Twice, he had felt the pain of death, and twice he had felt the relieving breath of life consume him. Still, he had endured the pain of looking at his past – Snake, Naomi – and transforming to become their friends or foes. He had suffered a great deal, and his only wish, now, was for death and that final sigh when all of his worries and all of his pains would exhale into the wind, and be carried through it to a world on high where gold bells would ring and trumpets would sound in jubilee of his coming. He had seen the world shattered in three instances, and in each instant, he had played the role of a friend. He had been there when no one else could be. He walked beside Snake forever and always.  
  
Meryl – she had gone from green to glimmering in no more than a number of hours. From knowing not how to fire a gun, or more not wanting to, she became a machine fitted for combat and every duty that accompanied it. Still, her heart never wished death upon anyone any more than anyone wished death upon her, and her heart stung with a love incomparable to any. On the battlefield, she had fallen, and her heart, even as she lay in pain, went out to her one love. Her only love. She had taken a bullet for him. She had taken three. And through the pain she thought not of herself, but of Snake, her one love. When she died, she died in sorrow, but she died in hope. She was selfless…an angel.  
  
Otacon – he, more than any other, was powerful. He did not have the muscles or the moves, but he had the heart and the compassion. He had been faced with temptation, with sorrow, and with pain, and he abandoned it all in fear, but he returned. Not to his homeland, or to his house, but to his family. He saved his sister even though she was sent away…he saved her crippled heart, and he loved as Snake loved. He loved any; he loved all. There was nothing he wouldn't do, and nobody he wouldn't do it for as long as their intentions held strong and true to the will of the world. He was a friend, a family, and a role model. A role model to Snake. He was dead…but he was compassionate beyond anything and everything. He would take the bullet.  
  
Finally, there was only one person left. It was himself. It was Snake. The legendary Solid Snake, the fearless creature who stalked in the shadows and brought justice and peace to the world…he had seen things that no others had seen, things that even his eyes had been scared by. He possessed fear just as any other human, and he was a friend just like Otacon. He would take a bullet. He'd take it for each and every one of them. He'd take as many as he had to.  
  
Looking over them all, he stopped, and they too stopped, turning to see his face, to be reassured by his stern, unchanging gaze, but when they turned they did not see that stale look of boredom and paleness. But instead, they saw happiness. Across his face was a smile, one that nothing, not even death could break, and in that moment he could feel all of the memories that had ever made him laugh before, emerge. He smiled wide, and laid his head back. He laughed. The others looked at him, their minds running rampant with questions, and at the sight, they smiled. They looked at him, and he looked back. They smiled.  
  
But, as he smiled, they could hear footsteps. Subtle, but present footsteps, echoing behind them as a form turned the corner and stepped out. Snake still smiled. Something also seemed to be dragging behind the figure, and when it stopped, the light shone over it brightly, illuminating it's features and giving life to it's pale structure. It wore a black suit, and a top hat, along with long black pants, a single crease running down each leg. He let his hand loosen, and a body dropped onto the floor.  
  
The man who lay on the floor moved onto his feet as the man in the suit snapped his fingers, no sound being made. The man appeared to be a soldier, one who wore the same odd camouflage as the others at Hell's Outpost. His lips stretched to make a cheery smile as the man in the black suit did the same.  
  
Then, the man in the suit moved his mouth, creating silent words in the air, and from the soldier's mouth, sounds that mirrored the man's were emitted. "I am Formal," he paused, "the mime." He slipped off his top hat, and the light struck his face, dancing about it like natives around a campfire. Two rosy circles were painted on his cheeks, and his face was deathly pale, his eyebrows accented with an excess amount of glimmering black paint. The white of his eyes was so pure that it made Jack shiver as he faced him.  
  
"You are here for the production, are you not?" Formal mouthed, and the soldier spoke. There was no answer from the company. Only the rustle of clothes and equipment could be heard. "The Hell Cell?" There was still no answer. "Funny. You are clowns just as I? Do you choose not to speak or are you unable?" Still, no answer. "Then you will have no trouble coming quietly. The stage is this way." Formal turned to the adjacent hall, and waited, but the company did not budge.  
  
"We choose not to speak," Jack said. "And we choose not to follow you." Formal looked at him, an ugly sneer on his prettied face. Slowly, as to make sure they all witnessed his movements, he held the left flap of his suit out, and displayed a wide array of sharp knives that the company could only think would be utilized in their demise.  
  
"You don't need us all," Snake voiced loudly, and Formal looked up in surprise and excitement. His eyes narrowed, and he examined the company, his eyes moving from Mei Ling to Snake, and sitting on him for some time. Slowly, Formal stepped forward, and as he did, the soldier did the same. He was tapping his fingers, thinking, pondering, and the company stood still. All but Snake. He took the bullet.  
  
As Formal neared them, Snake stepped ahead of the rest, and at his action, Formal stopped also, a delighted grin spread wide across his face. The more eerie of the matter was the smile on the soldier's face and how similar the two were. "It is a deal," he cried. "Surely they will be happy with you. Now come. This is your formal invitation." The two started down the hall together, Snake taking one last look at his friends. He saw them, and felt no need to analyze them any more than he had. They needed no evaluations. They were capable of handling the situation on their own. They could take care of themselves.  
  
Snake turned the corner, Formal at his side, and the soldier at Formal's. The journey was short, but all the way, he thought he could hear the scurrying footsteps of his friends, his partners. They would not rest until he was safe. He would not rest until they were safe. It seemed endless, and then, in that moment, he found himself before the gleaming light. The show had begun, and in the center of the room was Socrates, a creation being born in midair. Ocelot was beside him, and as Snake edged into the room, there was silence. The patter of the footsteps had ceased, and it left him with the enemy. But, he knew…his friends were still there.  
  
The finale was near. 


	27. Raindrops

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Raindrops  
  
  
  
It was like a blur, that moment. It all happened so fast, but to Snake it lasted a lifetime, and as he stood there, gazing into the light that weigh heavy, floating oddly in the air, his legs were weakened, his body succumbing to the feeling of numbness and dizziness. Figures appeared as blobs, bobbing eerily through the see of light, making jerky movements this way and that as his eyes strained to make sense of the moment. He could see two men directly ahead. One stood, that was Ocelot, and the other seemed to be sitting at a desk or something of the sort, his arms outstretched, and floating above them – the Hell Cell. That, was Socrates, his hand working furiously around it, dropping these chemicals into it, swiping his hands over it…only when it was complete did its objective take effect. So, as long as it was not whole, he could add or subtract from the ball of energy, anything he deemed necessary. The task was painstaking, but Snake had arrived near the end of its construction, sparing him a lengthy observation in which he would surely grow weary and uninterested in the production.  
  
He sensed the light growing stronger, and he could feel someone beside him who he remembered to be Formal. Even when he turned, examining Formal, he could not put the blob together. Everything was a blur. The walls in the lab had vanished, it seemed, for they only reflected the light, and all else that sat in the room was unimportant. As he stood there in wait, he thought he could hear footsteps returning, but when he turned to see if anyone was coming for him, coming for someone, Formal corrected him, and turned him back to the show, the light once again consuming him.  
  
Ideas, it seemed, were captivating him, controlling him, as he watched. Ideas from whom or from what, he couldn't tell, but images kept flashing in his mind. Their back was blue, and in that sea of uniform color was a series of white lines. They shot up, down, left right, in every direction as the light continued to burn. Snake realized something had changed, though. Ocelot no longer stood where he had moments ago, but Socrates was still hard at work, paying attention to nothing but the job at hand. Ocelot seemed to have slipped his mind. 'Something,' Snake thought, 'something is wrong.'  
  
The images returned, but he quickly swatted them away. Ocelot was no longer in the room, and whatever those transmissions were, those bursts of images, they were certainly not as important as Ocelot. 'Where?' Snake asked himself, his eyes darting this way and that. Formal seemed fearful of his knowledge, and followed his eyes closely, being sure not to let them stumble across anything he was not to see. 'Where?!' he cried in his mind, his fists growing tense and his will to move growing stronger. 'You cant. You have to stay here,' he told himself, trying to calm the desire within. 'Now just look around.' His eyes wandered, but he saw nothing…nothing that indicated Ocelot's presence, but he could see something on the desk beside Socrates. It was a lump of black, but something red seemed to be glowing on its side. The images returned then, and he fought them, but they consumed his every thought. There was nothing he could do to end them. It was the will of another. Another who had control. Control. Ha. Snake never seemed to have control.  
  
The light grew brighter still, and the images flashed over his eyelids rapidly, attempting to burn themselves into his eyes, but they failed. The light seemed to be defeating them, destroying them, beating them away from Snake's mind. It was like two armies. Each sought a different goal, and as time passed, they found themselves at a miserable stalemate. Snake saw the images, and he saw the light, but at no time did he see more than the light or more than the images. The meat, the heart, of what they sought could not be presented, for they cancelled each other out, making the task impossible.  
  
It was then – when the images began to grow increasingly vivid, and began to pry into Snake's mind, consuming him completely – that the light seemed to explode. Only, unlike a true explosion, the light flashed, but did not retreat after a few seconds. Instead, it shone bright, and as it did, the images disappeared, and the lab had returned. No longer sitting at the desk, Socrates was on his feet, his right hand held out in triumph, and his other holding a syringe in caution. The light was so bright now that the lump on the desk seemed to disappear, and the gleeful face that Socrates wore was washed out in shadow. Still, his smile was not the focus of the moment, but instead the light, the orb, and the syringe. The three things could only exist with each other, and as Socrates stood there, his left hand shaking, he lowered the orb, lifted the syringe and held them inches apart. His left hand now above his right, he shivered as his left thumb squeezed down on the end of the syringe. That was when the final drop of the Hell Cell left the source and closed the door. There was no turning back. The liquid, whatever it was, fell through the air slower than a feather, and everyone who was present, whether they were within the room or beyond its limits, waited in anticipation be it fear or joy.  
  
It drifted, the liquid, light refracting through it. Unlike the rest of what lay within the room, it appeared to shimmer, and in the eve of impact it glowed with a magnificent beauty, like a crystal set in the centrifuge of a lamp. Then, the beauty disappeared, and a hell was awakened.  
  
The single drop collided with the cell, and the brilliant light that the orb had once emitted, burned away, turning the dark shade of blood. Everything shifted in the room, and a wave of shadows traveled through the room in an instant. It was then that something similar to 'normal' returned. The light was no longer bright, and now Socrates was as vivid as ever, only the color of his clothes and his skin stained with the shade of red, as was everything in the room. Slowly, Socrates lifted a small octagonal cage, and pulled his right hand out from under the cell, letting it drop into the cage, trapping its light inside. The smile on Socrates' face was sickening, and Snake wanted to kill him right there. Right then. But it seemed that job had been reserved for another.  
  
As he started toward him, Formal attempting to halt him, something flew by the two of them, and in a blur, struck Socrates' side, sending a torrent of blood over the desk. Socrates cried out, his arms flailing, and as he dropped to the floor, the cage left his hand and a figure stepped out from behind the wall to Snake's right, catching it in it's hand. The figure turned. Ocelot. Then, the blur that stood above Socrates seemed to sharpen, and Snake fell back a short ways when he recognized who it was. Frank. Grey Fox. The Ninja.  
  
"Surprised to see him?" Ocelot asked, provoking Snake's anger. Snake started forward, but Ocelot whipped out a revolver, held it to his chest, and made a gesture for Snake to turn. He did so in shame, and saw four soldiers standing around three very memorable friends. Mei Ling, Naomi, and Jack stood there, helpless. They could have made it on their own, but not in such a scenario. Ocelot had the upper hand on them all along.  
  
"What the hell?!" Snake turned back to Ocelot, his eyes narrowing in on the Ninja who stared back at him and stepped up beside Ocelot who was smiling with such satisfaction that Snake had never felt. "Frank," Snake muttered, but the Ninja simply turned and kneeled beside Socrates who was barely moving, his hand at his side.  
  
"You never seem to catch on," Ocelot said, turning calmly back to the Ninja and pacing about the room. It was then that Snake was able to see something unique about the Ninja. He was shaking like before, only he was containing it somehow. He was trying to hide it, it seemed. When he looked up from Socrates, the Ninja seemed to cower back in fear as Ocelot pulled forth his glimmering pocket watch. "You see…your friend is my puppet." Ocelot pushed the minute knob and the Ninja grabbed his head, writhing in fury and pain. Ocelot enjoyed watching him twist and turn like he did, but for Snake and the others to hear him well, he could not be trying to talk over those terrible cries. Henceforth, he pushed the knob again, and the Ninja fell weak like he had every time prior. "Surely you came to ponder why anyone would use HIM as a specimen, and more importantly how he was fitted with all of his gear while sitting in a morgue." He waited, expecting someone to answer, but the only reply was Naomi's quick move to Mei Ling's arm, her face buried in her shoulder. "He was PLACED there, SET there…by me." Snake was confused. Ocelot continued pacing.  
  
"Of course I had expected Socrates to show some sort of resistance to my sudden control of Philosophy, and the only way to revive him, and get him to build the Hell Cell without enabling him to continue leadership would be to eliminate him…but, not only him: EVERYONE who stood in opposition to my final plans. As long as a threat existed – beyond the one that you provided, giving me the audience I needed to continue – my plans were not safe, and neither was Hell's Outpost." He stopped where he was, and then pivoted toward the company, stepping close to Snake as he spoke.  
  
"So you see, I needed the best warrior I could find and one who could cripple the trust and efficiency of my audience once again. I needed leverage, and Frank Jaeger, Grey Fox, the Ninja…he was my key. Remember? Think back," he said, waiting for the company to process the information before continuing. "Rogue did not die of an explosion. Had that been the case, I too would have perished. No…the Ninja was there with you, Snake. You saw him on the spot, right where you found that blood, and those insides.  
  
"Now, think of Little Mary. Just as she was in the act of foolishly bringing death upon our friend Jack, the Ninja appeared. What did he do, Snake? He killed her." Ocelot was grinning. "And now, this. Socrates completed the Hell Cell, and the moment he did, the Ninja was upon him. Every instance fits into the equation, the formula. He is my puppet, my attack dog. He has no control over himself. He does only what I ask of him." Naomi was unable to control her anger, but as she lashed out, Snake stopped her, holding his arm in front of her. He didn't want her taking the bullet.  
  
"You…bastard," a muffled voice choked. Ocelot turned and looked down to see Socrates, his eyes wide and blood dripping from his mouth. "Farrel…Formal…help me," he coughed, but the only reply was a series of footsteps as Farrel and Formal moved over him, odd smiles on their faces. Socrates lost all hope in the moment, horror spreading over his wretched face. "You…you are…in league with this man?"  
  
"We will get a few grand out of you," Farrel joked. "And a small share of the world. We will be gods."  
  
"Yes," a foreign voice spoke with the movement of Formal's lips, "this is a deal only you were foolish enough to turn down."  
  
"Mary held true…Mary and the others…they held true to me…not…not you," Socrates forced himself to speak, and then something he had never experienced before, began. He cried. Tears dripped down his cheeks like a river, and Ocelot ignored him.  
  
"Let us not dwell over the past. This is one thing that no one will come to reverse, Socrates. Your death is final." Ocelot looked up to Snake who was furious. "Don't you worry, Solid Snake. Your friend waits just a room away. With this man's untimely death will be your friends well-deserved revival."  
  
"Don't…don't let me…die," Socrates wept, his tears meeting with the cold floor, drowning him in sorrow. Ocelot looked down on him, his revolver in hand, and frowned.  
  
"Tears…like raindrops on a summer's day. To their song, children dance, and to your own, I will also." Ocelot lowered his revolver and with a loud, startling crack, Socrates was dead. 


	28. Together and Alone

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Together and Alone  
  
  
  
The room they moved into next was cold and dark. The ceiling was low, and water dropped from cracks in the walls, flooding the hall a few inches with a murky sludge. Snake was in the lead, behind Ocelot at least, and he could hear the other sloshing through the disgusting muck as they trudged to something, anything. To all but Ocelot, their destination was unclear. Even Formal, with a fair supply of soldiers walking behind him to use as puppets, was anticipating it. He was rubbing his hands together furiously, trying to escape the bitter cold. In the midnight air, the one thing that could be seen was one's own breath, vanishing as one stepped through it. Ocelot seemed to be growing impatient himself, carrying the Perfect Cell in his left hand and the Hell Cell in his right, both of them safely within their cages.  
  
After a few moments, Ocelot stopped, and noticing the absence of splashing ahead, Snake and the company halted and waited in silence. "Right this way," Snake could hear someone say, their voice quiet and cautious. It was Desperado. 'So,' Snake thought, 'he made it off the snowfield.' He smiled to himself and Ocelot turned, putting his hand on Snake's shoulder, guiding him to the right. The rest were left to follow the sounds they made as they continued. From what Snake could tell, Desperado had joined them, and was walking beside Ocelot only feet ahead.  
  
Slowly, a distant light came into view, its shine coming from a door somewhere on the left side of the hall. Snake could see the water clearer in that light than anywhere, and the terrible green and brown that it consisted of was enough to make anyone get sick. He grabbed his stomach lightly, and went on, trying to avoid looking at the glinting water as he trudged toward it.  
  
Of the splashes made, the most noticeable was that of the Ninja. He was between Farrel and Formal at the end of the line, and surrounded by a horde of soldiers. The motion was obvious: a tripping splash, one with a short splash and then a long one, indicating his weak fault, sending water far across the hall, hitting the heals of every soldier that stood ahead. They complained continuously as they ventured down the path, their guns clenched tightly in their hands.  
  
Snake saw Ocelot and Desperado as they stepped into the light, stopping himself just a few feet away. Desperado was still cuddling his arm, and Ocelot took from him a pair of keys, inserting them into the door from which the light shone. He fumbled with them for countless moments, and Snake began to ponder this odd scene. Ocelot was using a key. Not a key card, but a key. It didn't run on levels of security…the only line of defense was a rusty door that seemed nothing like the rest of the compound. Odd.  
  
"Here we are," Ocelot growled, and the door swung open, the glow illuminating all of the hall. Snake looked back and could see his friends' faces more clearly than he had in the last thirty minutes, and near the end of the line he saw the Ninja…miserable. His head was held low, and Snake got the feeling that he was normal again, not under the control of Ocelot. He was saddened. Even with an inch-thick biomechanical suit separating him from the world, Snake could see him like he was bare. "Are you coming?" Ocelot asked jokingly, and Snake turned away from the company, Ocelot's hand pushing him lightly through the doorway to the other room where Desperado stood, looking at Snake without expression. Not angry. Not thankful. Blank.  
  
As the rest of the company moved into the room with him, Snake looked around, his eyes examining it like one would examine a completely original set of dinosaur bones after joyfully celebrating the find. Only in Snake's case, he had not joyfully celebrated his predicament, but instead cursed it.  
  
The ceiling was tall, like a church, only it was not bent downward. It was a flat ceiling, but it was very high, giving Snake the impression that he had been heading deeper into the earth ever since he passed into the sub- level, having abandoned the first floor of the Spire and the still, lifeless corpse of Little Mary, her single tear now a puddle on the floor, and her hollow heart emptied of its sorrow.  
  
The door slammed behind him.  
  
"Right this way," Ocelot said, "we are nearing the conclusion of today's journey, and the finale of this long an glorious production." Snake was in awe of his elegant speech as he thought of Ocelot's cruelty. He was a man of many talents, but cruelty shone brighter than any, and for him to be evil and educated seemed fairly out of place. Still, Ocelot took the lead, Desperado returning to his side, and they followed closely. They seemed to be in some sort of drainage way, for there were walls to their left and right, and ahead was a short set of stairs leading to whatever was atop those walls.  
  
They went on, traveling up the stairs, and following Ocelot who went along a path that was outlined with small dots of light on either side of their feet. This way, they could see each other, faintly, but they could not make sense of the room's purpose. Until more lights were lit, they would be unsure, and left in the dark as before.  
  
Then, Ocelot stopped and fiddled with something in his pocket until a pair of lights switched on at their feet, illuminating a table turned upright. Strapped to the table was a body. Snake took a few moments to make sense of what he was seeing, sorting through the shadows to focus on what was before him, and when he did realize it he wanted to jump forward. Otacon.  
  
Leather straps bound him to the table, for nothing like metal or steel was necessary. Otacon was dead, there was no need containing him with such restraints. Ocelot examined him, looking over his long white jacket, breathing on his glasses and removing them, cleaning them with his own sleeve before returning them to Otacon's pale face. Snake felt sick, but he felt comforted. He was in the presence of Otacon, his friend, his role model. They were together. Ocelot turned to Snake and the others as they made a line side-by-side, facing him.  
  
He held up his arms and grinned. "I promised you he would be here," he said. "Now, do not fret. I have not lied to you. I will return him to life…but only in a moment. First, I would like to warn you all that if you step forward whether it be now, or in the next five minutes, I would not hesitate to kill you. And if I miss, which is an absurd thought, Desperado will not. Understood?" He waited for an answer, but expecting nothing, he continued. "Then sit tight, little boys and girls. The finale is near."  
  
Ocelot turned back to Otacon, handed the Hell Cell to Desperado who stood beside the table, and moved beside it, turning a squeaky wheel as the table shifted onto its back. Otacon was lying, his face to the ceiling. Slowly, Ocelot moved over him, the operation beginning to seem routine, and pulled forth a scout knife, its edge rigid with shattered steel. Then, he swiped down, splitting Otacon's chest in two, and pulled his body open. Snake cringed and looked away as Mei Ling set her arm on his shoulder.  
  
Then, Ocelot squeezed the cage, and the bottom wall vanished, the Perfect Cell drifting through the air as slow as any could imagine. Snake turned back, his anticipation finally showing through his discerning shell. The light was bright enough to strike something to his left, but none of them had time enough to turn their heads, just as Ocelot had hoped.  
  
It impacted, sending a gold wave over them all, and Snake did but blink, the others shielding their eyes as the Perfect Cell ascended into the cage and the wall returned, safely locking it within. Ocelot and Snake both looked in hope. There was no movement. Otacon was still pale. His eyes were still cloudy, his pupils shrouded. His hand was still. But, Ocelot and Snake both saw the corner of his mouth where his lips met…it was twitching just slightly, and they looked down to his chest as the cut in his shirt began to ripple like wind was traveling over it, and the blood that stained him vanished, along with the gauge in his chest. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide, his body retained color, and his hands flexed. He lifted his head off the table; his glasses sliding down his face and the first thing he saw was Snake. A tear was in the corner of his eye, and when he smiled, it fell down his cheek. Snake failed to realize, but Otacon was not crying at the mere fact of seeing Snake, but seeing Snake cry, seeing Snake smile.  
  
Ocelot lifted something from his pocket, and it quickly caught Snake's eye as a torrent of images flashed through his mind. It happened to everyone. They all saw the images, but they did not seem foreign to Otacon. He saw them and his mouth fell open as they appeared before him like terrible memories. Snake sorted through them, trying to understand, but all he saw was a deep blue sky, and a clutter of thin clouds sketched over it. The red light on the device Ocelot held went out, and the images disappeared. Otacon lifted his head again, looking at Ocelot in horror, but Snake was still lost.  
  
"That is why you are here," he said to Otacon, his voice as deceptive and cruel as ever. "That is why you all are here." Snake looked to the others hoping to see their faces full of confusion, and he did…for the most part. He could sense something…he could sense, like he always did, that the Ninja understood it all. He seemed informed, educated, and intelligent, leaving Snake and the others to play the role of the naïve audience, their minds too shrouded or distracted. Ocelot looked at him, surprised. "You don't understand?" Snake looked at him blankly, and he went on. "Then I'll explain." He started pacing.  
  
"First of all, I would like to inform you of your foolishness. Snake, you and Otacon had set a bug on the RAY I was piloting after retaking control of my body. Ha you continued to trace that bug, or had you not 'misplaced' the tracking device," Ocelot paused, fiddling again with something deep in his pocket, "you would have found…this!" The right side of the room is lit with hundreds of tiny lights, leading the rest of the room in darkness. As they flashed on, memories returned to them all, for standing on their right was a partly disassembled RAY model, mounted to the giant wall, its magnificence restored. Ocelot grinned mischievously as they all stumbled backward in surprise. "Yes, she's a beauty all right."  
  
"After the incident with Arsenal, I was able to pilot her into the mare rural land and sneak her to this compound. That was nearly three months ago. Hell's Outpost was six weeks from completion, and Philosophy had made a deal to be on the site as it was constructed. I made my deal with Farrel and he provided me with this hangar-like room. It was originally created to store devices that would later be used by scientists who would work here. Things like particle accelerators, and other fancy pieces of art, but I felt it was wasteful space, and quickly moved in.  
  
"It wasn't until after my deal with Farrel that the security was upgraded, seeing as our objectives were far more important than previously. Still, the sub-levels could not be equipped with the advanced technologies, because if workers were sent into this area, they would no doubt stumble over RAY, and that could create a problem for us. So, we got by with less than stellar security and used Hell's Outpost as our playground. Once Socrates provided us with the Hell Cell, and kicked the bucket as expected, we would be well on our way to completing the process.  
  
"Snake, you did not understand those images…well, let me go into more detail about those. While Otacon was scavenging the Pentagon for information regarding this mission, he kept in touch with Farrel, designating him an official source of information. As we all know, Farrel was not working at the Pentagon, and certainly would not be considered an official source of information because of that, but we managed to kill two birds with one stone back in D.C.  
  
"You see, Farrel had obtained his device," Ocelot held up the small black object for everyone to observe. "This has no real title, but as a very important piece in the puzzle of the Patriots, I was able to get my hands on it. What it does, in this scenario, is react with your nanomachines to transfer a single image continuously, embedding it in your mind. When Farrel communicated with Otacon here, he was able to link this device through his own nanomachines and play the image through to Otacon even as he sat on the other end of the line. The soldiers on his tail were armed with blanks, given inaccurate information, and could not have killed Otacon no matter their bulk. Once he was on the chopper, the rest was cakewalk.  
  
"He played the image the entire flight, and Otacon watched it all. He took it all in, and of the lot of you, I believe he and myself are the only two, who truly understand. You see, that image was a blueprint. It was a blueprint in construction, and Otacon has finished it. He put together the odds and ends, and knew it all the moment he saw that picture, but he couldn't remember it without another peak, another quick look. Now, as his expression implies, he remembers." Otacon's steel-hard face did not alter, and his disapproving glare led Ocelot to continue, his smile even wider than before.  
  
"'A blueprint of what?' you ponder. As you can see, pieces of RAY appear missing, and the left half of this rooms remains unlit. 'What could it possibly be?' you ask. And I will tell you." He fumbled with something in his pocket and then after a long pause, answered the burning question. "It is CELL!" he roared, and the lights to their left lit the room to the point that all was in their view. As the tiny lights sparked on, Otacon sported a terrified gaze, his mind too knowing of its capabilities. There, mounted to the wall, was a giant walking battle tank.  
  
"What is that?!" Snake cried, and Ocelot grinned widely.  
  
"That, my friend, is Metal Gear CELL," Ocelot smiled, turning to Desperado for approval. Desperado approved, as did the thrilled Farrel, and the anxious mime, Formal. They all examined it, running their eyes over its unparalleled magnitude. To RAY, it seemed almost a half taller, and built into it was a much wider array of weaponry, a MARINES logo still exposed…a memory from RAY's distant past.  
  
"A new prototype. Fully engineered to process in any environment, and able to withstand temperatures ranging from negative 300 degrees Fahrenheit, to positive 3000 degrees Fahrenheit. Equipped with a unique set of nuclear capabilities, it holds three noticeable similarities to the RAY model that stands at your right. First, it inherits the machine gun caddy that was built into the arm of RAY. Second, it holds a series of nuclear devices in its back, all enhanced to produce greater figures of damage and death counts when utilized properly. And three, it has the tail, which I feel makes it all the better." He waited for someone to chuckle, but none did.  
  
"But, there are many additions that make RAY appear weak and small in comparison. You see, built into the shoulders of the units are Random-Mark Machine Guns. These guns, controlled by CELL's over-the-top operating computer, can change targets while firing, without the aid of the pilot. They come in handy when the pilot is busy using CELL's other prominent features.  
  
"Another is the Chest Que. This allows for a large sum of nuclear weapons, ammunition, and fuel, to be housed within the chest of CELL, distributed when necessary, throughout the body and to the respected caddies where the ammunition is fired, the nuclear weapons are launched, and the fuel is burned. It would be nearly impossible for the pilot to expend all of CELL's ammunition and fuel in less than an hour if they spent the entire time burning the fuel and firing the guns.  
  
"Lastly, besides the returning laser, and a few 'surprise-located' turrets and cannons, we come to the truly unique feature of Metal Gear CELL, the very thing that gives it it's name. Those images you have seen, they are images of not just Metal Gear, but more specifically – the Cell Drive."  
  
"Cell Drive?" Snake questioned. "What the hell is that?" Ocelot took the opportunity to explain in more depth.  
  
"The Cell Drive is the centrifuge for Metal Gear CELL's most important specifications. It is also the reason, the TRUE reason, as to why I have gone to such lengths to acquire both the Perfect Cell and the Hell Cell. We all know their capabilities. The Perfect Cell can restore life in an instant, while the Hell Cell steals it. With that in mind, surely you must understand now?" No answer.  
  
"The Cell Drive has two ports in which the Hell Cell and the Perfect Cell can be inserted, and with them loaded into Metal Gear CELL, the changes are unbelievable. The armor is strengthened, and you can see, if the outer layer is penetrated or scarred, the Cell Drive uses energy from the Perfect Cell to 'regenerate' the lost machinery. It is able to do this through a biomechanical interface. One much like the Ninja's suit, which we used as a prototype."  
  
"And the Hell Cell?" Farrel questioned. "What does it do?"  
  
"Ahh," Ocelot began. "With the Hell Cell in place, its energy is siphoned through to each weapons caddy. Everything fired from those caddies is tainted with the essence of the Hell Cell, poisoning them and killing anything they meet in an instant. So if a bullet were to pierce you, or a rocket to explode before you, besides blowing you to smithereens, every little speck of you would be robbed of life. Consider it something of an incentive to NOT screw with me."  
  
"So what next?" Snake asked what everyone was thinking. Otacon produces a weak smile, hearing Snake's familiar voice again. Ocelot looked at him, taking the question to heart, and giving his answer a few moments to develop before answering.  
  
"What next? Why, I'll march CELL right in to the center of D.C. and destroy those damned politicians! With it, I have all that I…want. And you," he paused, pondering their fates. "You will march beside me, beside the future of the world. You will march beside CELL, the ultimate tool of power."  
  
"No," Mei Ling shook her head, her voice feeble and weak. "No. I'm not marching beside you." She stepped forward, ahead of the others, her fists clamped and dangling at her sides. She looked at Ocelot who seemed to be enjoying it, but as Naomi stepped up beside her, his smile melted into a surprised look of disapproval, almost fearful. "No," Naomi said defiantly.  
  
"No," said Jack, stepping forward, even with the others.  
  
"No," Snake said, taking a stance beside Jack who stood on his left. He shrugged off a guard's tight grip and looked to the left, down the line to see the Ninja step forward, his limp no longer evident.  
  
"No," Frank proclaimed, his face bright and smiling beneath the masked that disguised it.  
  
There, they stood, facing Ocelot, and in disbelief, Desperado began to turn his gaze to Farrel and Formal, looking for an explanation, but they had nothing to say. They were as baffled as he. "No," they heard, and Otacon lifted his head, a wide smile on his face. Snake turned his head up to Ocelot and looked him in the eyes, his wide, fear-drowned eyes.  
  
"No…we're not marching by your side, Ocelot. We march together. We're a company. A company alone," Snake stated, firmly. There was not a drop of fear in him, nor was there in any other of the company. "Together and alone."  
  
"Together and alone," Mei Ling mouthed, and Ocelot's fear-stricken expression lasted longer than Snake or Otacon or Mei Ling or Naomi or Jack or Frank could have ever wished. It lingered there, so sweet and beautiful. They would not march beside Ocelot. They would march…  
  
…Together and alone.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Well everyone, this is the second-to-last chapter. Only one to go. ( It truly saddens me to leave this project, but I hope that when it is all over, you see the beauty of life and the powerful binding that is love. Look at Snake, at Naomi, Mei Ling, Jack, Frank, Otacon…look at their courage and their love. Their friendship and compassion. While this is an irrelevant lesson, don't be a follower. Don't do what others do. Be unique. Stay true to yourself. And walk…together and alone.  
  
Please review, and get ready. The final chapter will be here soon. Good day and Good Night. 


	29. The Compilation

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Compilation  
  
  
  
"I advise you," Ocelot began, "to do exactly as I say. I thought the incentive I gave you was worthy of the circumstances." The line the company had created, independent of the guards as well as the remaining officers of Philosophy, did not waver in that moment, but held strong, coming together like a horde of bees, drawn to the wonderful scent of honey, which they would protect and shield from the scheming bunch that existed in nature, like the bullies of school…or the Ocelot of the world. He was one of a kind, but together they could turn him around, turn him away from CELL. They would stop him where he stood, his feet never moving from where they had been planted at the beginning of their 'verbal revolt.'  
  
"Your incentive," Snake paused, "is bull shit." Ocelot's retreating glare had returned to its normal 'Don't tell me I didn't warn you' expression, and he slowly stepped toward Otacon, moving his hand to the holster that held his revolver.  
  
"Through this device," Ocelot made a gesture, moving the crowd's attention to the small 'image' device, "Farrel was able to capture the completed blueprints from Otacon. So you see, there is no longer a need for our dear scientist, and it appears you do not fear for his health, so –," Snake stopped him in the middle of his sentence.  
  
"You hurt him," Snake burst, "and I'll rip your spine out, I swear." Ocelot stopped, his hand no longer moving, but still and lifeless, lightly touching his holster. He began to pat it with his fingers, playing an unrecognizable tune, improvising, portraying the beat of his heart with the patter of his fingers. Snake's face was stern and unforgiving, and even Otacon looked at him, oddly hurt by his remark.  
  
Slowly, an orchestra playing something like a symphony on the leather holster dangling from his belt, Ocelot pivoted on his right heel, the tension growing, his heart beating faster and faster, and the company breathing heavier and heavier, their hearts coming faster and faster as Ocelot's. It was in Ocelot's fingers, everything. He could slip out his revolver and take them all down but the Ninja before a single one of them would have been able to move for cover. And he would go for Snake first. He'd send that bullet right through his heart, or maybe aim for his forehead, and then, when it was all over he would laugh. He would chuckle for a moment, forget they ever existed, and board CELL en route for Washington D.C. or wherever he planned to destroy another number of lives. He was like a virus, its contagious strain, viciously spreading without remorse, without recollection. A virus. So sickening.  
  
"I wonder why I don't kill you now," Ocelot said. He stopped, set his toes to the floor, and let his hand fall away from his holster, his song coming to a quick and startling halt. Mei Ling shuddered when he spoke, but she covered it well, not letting him notice her slight weakness, her hidden fear. Everyone feared something. Some feared life, people like the Ninja, while others feared death, people like Mei Ling…people like Ocelot.  
  
"You're afraid," Snake said, realizing it all himself. "You're afraid to die." Ocelot cocked his head to the side, trying o make sense of Snake's babbling, and a smile overtook him. He found the scene to be humorous, but Snake saw it to be exactly the opposite. He did not smile, he did not grin, but he looked on with his blank stare, the one he used more than any other. It was the universal sign of Solid Snake. The universal sign of a true warrior, a legend. "You don't 'not want' to die, but you 'fear' dying."  
  
"You do have a way of twisting words," Ocelot replied, disgusted with Snake's blow, but at the same time surprised and proud, "but you do indeed carry the power of manipulation. I have to say, I am impressed with your acting, Solid Snake."  
  
"I don't act," he replied. There was no uncertainty in his voice. He was confident, and not even a gun barrel to his temple could turn him away from what he believed, from what he followed. "I play my role. The role I was given at birth. You play the role of some cruel role model, some clouded image. I am myself, but you…you're not even human." Ocelot's brow went crooked, and he stepped toward Snake, a menacing glare leaving everyone in a wretched silence. The only sound that filled the room was the echoing clatter of Ocelot's boots, playing a whimsical tune: one of beauty, grace, and genius. Everything, in that moment, seemed amplified and magnified, every movement and every word appearing in the most powerful of forms.  
  
"You speak before you think," Ocelot finally broke the painful silence that gripped the company, tearing their hearts and making their minds scream in agony. "And you manage to put it beautifully. My role model was the image of a general, someone with power, someone who held a gun. I watched television, and learned to spin a revolver like the actors. I wanted to be a legend, a hero, but I grew up under the influence of violence, under the influence of stars. I'm sure I would have gone sour anyway, but afraid to die? Heh, that is your only false accusation. I have never been more willing."  
  
"You wanted to be a legend," Snake proclaimed. "Legends aren't afraid to die. They're legends because nothing stops them. They face death and laugh. A legend? A hero? T.V. can't crank out those. It's your blood. If it's cold," he paused, "you've got a chance. But not freezing," he waited for Ocelot's reaction. It was lifeless. "It's no wonder you continue to stage your missions in the freezing wastelands. I think you missed the opportunity by just a few degrees." Ocelot grimaced at Snake, a displeasing taste arriving in the depths of his throat. He fought to send it away, but it stayed…like a stench that emanated from yourself, something that followed you everywhere.  
  
Then, he pulled his revolver, it's barrel aimed at Snake, and once it was out of its holster, the Ninja was beside Snake, his sword drawn, and his breath heavy. Ocelot narrowed his eyes at the Ninja, his dislike for him something that was only challenged by his dislike for Snake. "Hmph," he grunted, and then swiftly spun to Otacon, firing four times.  
  
A body slumped to the ground and Snake started forward but the Ninja managed to catch hold of his arm. Ocelot spun his revolver back into its holster, and lightly kicked the body that lay on the floor. "Umf!" Otacon replied, and Snake looked up in hope, seeing the four broken leather bindings as the scientist moved onto his feet rubbing his wrists with discomfort. Quickly, he moved over to Snake without confrontation, and the two met, their arms wrapping around each other in joy.  
  
"You all right?" Snake asked, the two stepping away to look at each other. Otacon nodded, an awkward but somewhat casual smile on his face.  
  
"Well," Otacon paused, rubbing the back of his head and tapping his toes on the floor, their echoing provoking him to stop. "I'm…all right, yea." Snake smiled at him, happy to know that things were still okay, and then, not knowing where to take the conversation, simply made space in the line where Otacon gladly stepped in, turning around again to face Ocelot as the others did.  
  
"I didn't need you any longer," Ocelot sneered, "be grateful that I let you live." Otacon wasn't grateful. Yes, he had been returned to life, a life he wished to continue living, but it was…strange. Everything was. In those moments that he saw that window crack, everything was so clear. He was shot, everything faded away, and he died. It was plain cut, but being returned…he felt an uneasy sensation in the depth of his stomach, and everything was a blur. The lines of reality had vanished and his bindings had shattered. He was unsure now…not like he was before when he sat behind his computer, talking to Snake in his own safe haven. That death…and that revival…they'd changed him, but 'how' was something neither he nor Snake could point out. It was just…strange.  
  
"Didn't need him?" Snake questioned, his tone impatient and accented with an uneasy anger. "You still need time." Ocelot began to pace back and forth, his endless speeches growing strenuous.  
  
"No, no," Ocelot assured him, "there will be no further delays. The time has all ready come for CELL to be awakened. You see, as you were infiltrating Hell's Outpost, and Otacon was completing the blueprints, Desperado was keeping a steady connection with Farrel who fed the completed blueprints back to this very area. Then, all we needed was for the plans to be carried out.  
  
"So we hired a staff of engineers to construct the Cell Drive and insert it into Metal Gear CELL while the rest of you went off, only seeing the minor tasks required to be carried out was this to work. Desperado supervised the construction, and once it was ready, we moved him to the surface and transported him a few miles off where he boarded a helicopter and faked his arrival. Even though we knew that Ocelot would not witness the arrival, we had to make it precise. There could be no faults, no hints, no trouble. It had to be perfect. Everything had to be perfect.  
  
"We imitated the trade of the Perfect Cell and the 15,000 dollars, seeing as the only way the Ninja could be incorporated was through his kidnapping, and his revival. Yes, the money was real, and so was the Perfect Cell, but the transition left us with both pieces of the trade in our possession. The money…and the cell." Ocelot stopped pacing, and turned to the line, his revolver suddenly appearing in his hand. He was quick. "So you see…EVERYTHING was setup. Of course, you took this mission independently. You had no tip off but that of the media, and believing that the Patriots weren't involved was the trick to getting you here. That way, you figured the media was not false, and you came right into our hands as we wished for you to do."  
  
"The Patriots are involved?" Snake asked quizzically. "Other than you?" Ocelot seemed as if he did not want to answer the question at the time, and so he blew it off, moving on.  
  
"And so, we come to the final stage," he stated, Snake pondering his reason for averting the question. "Now is the time to raise CELL and march to the capital. We will show the world our power…" he trailed off, and Snake took a slight step forward, but as he did a gunshot sounded, echoing like a sick reminder through the air. Ocelot's revolver was held high, a thin trail of smoke lifted into the air, leaving its brandished end. Left inches from his right foot was a black scar, a red light burning in its center. "Now, now, Snake. It would be rather unfortunate seeing you die so late in the game." Snake retreated to his original position, and Otacon looked over at him, his heart stinging with concern. He hated seeing Snake singled out, taking on the world as he stood there doing nothing. "Desperado," Ocelot turned to his 'old friend' and gestured for them to move to CELL, "it is time." Desperado nodded wearily, but there was a slight sense of anticipation in the moment.  
  
"You, stay here. We'll take her for a test run," Ocelot smiled, turning to Desperado as the two headed down a walkway that led to a set of metal stairs ascending upon a catwalk that eventually led to the cockpit of Metal Gear CELL, the Perfect Cell and Hell Cell in their hands. The cells would be loaded into the Cell Drive from the cockpit, making it easier for them to board without worrying about how long it would take before they could truly set off. Everyone turned, watching as they went away, and Formal and Farrel looked disapprovingly, somewhat upset to see them boarding instead of themselves. "Let's get them into confinements," Farrel ordered, and the soldiers began to move up from behind, pulling at the company, forcing them from their line.  
  
Otacon felt a man's hand on his shoulder, but he tugged away, trying to hold his ground. There was another pull, one more powerful than the last, but he shrugged it off as well, seeing Snake beside him, not a man daring to come near him or the Ninja. Farrel saw Otacon, refusing to follow, and stepped over to him, his face implying that he was far too impatient to deal with his insolence. "You're coming," Farrel said, squeezing Otacon's arm tightly, causing him to cringe in pain.  
  
Snake turned, gripping his hand around Farrel's forearm that was rest on Otacon's, "Don't touch him," Snake said, his face possessing no compassion or sentiment, only fury, only rage. Farrel looked at him, a look like 'Who do you think you're talking to?' all over his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Snake interrupted. "I said…don't touch him."  
  
Then, as Ocelot and Desperado had reached the catwalk, conquering the flight of shaky steps, Snake grabbed at Farrel's waist taking a grip on his pistol, but Farrel's hands dropped, securing the gun in its holster as the two struggled over it. The Ninja turned his head, seeing the attempt, and held out his sword, running it through a soldier's chest, blood spilling onto the cold floor. Ocelot and Desperado turned, hearing the rip of flesh and the grunts of Snake and Farrel.  
  
By that time, everyone realized what was happening, and Formal quickly drew from his jacket a set of knives, spreading them in his hands like playing cards before setting them into the air. Soldiers fell victim to the Ninja's fierce sword, and Jack's quick boxing techniques, as the knives moved through the air, abnormally, around Mei Ling and Naomi. As the two ran for the catwalk, hoping to stop Ocelot and Desperado, they found themselves caught. Enclosed. The knives that hovered about had created the vertices of a box, and they were within its boundaries – all invisible of course. "Jack!" Mei Ling cried, and he turned from his bout, seeing the evident peril they were in. Formal turned to Jack as he moved away from the soldiers, and pulled forth two knives, gripping their handles tightly with each fist. He grinned, his eyes catching another soldier. "Bring it on!" he mouthed, the soldier's voice springing into the air the moment before he felt the impact of the Ninja's blade in his chest.  
  
As Jack and Formal broke into a ferocious battle, Mei Ling and Naomi remained helpless, and the Ninja continued slashing away, deflecting bullets, and protecting Otacon who had been separated from Snake. Farrel and Snake were still in heavy pursuit of Farrel's own gun, their hands writhing furiously to take control. Unless someone intervened, they could keep at it as long as their bodies were able.  
  
"Take care of this!" Ocelot shouted, and he and Desperado quickly moved along the catwalk to where the head of CELL lay even, the panel to the cockpit wide open, awaiting their arrival. The Ninja turned to another soldier, nine at his feet, and raised his sword, ready to strike off another bullet, but as he pulled it down, an unexpected shot rang out, and then another, and another, and another. The blade fell to the floor, ringing into the morning like the highest voice in an opera. Everyone turned. He fell, his body booming against the cement.  
  
Snake had lost control of the gun…it was in Farrel's hand, raised triumphantly to where the Ninja had stood. Snake didn't move, his eyes standing still. Nobody moved. Even Formal and Jack had stopped and turned to witness the moment. Naomi fell against the invisible wall, her hand pounding against it, and tears flowing down her face as Mei Ling tried to comfort her.  
  
The Ninja lay there, barely moving, a hole in his back. After the first shot, it had begun to regenerate…to heal, but when the second came, and then the third…the technology wasn't able to save him then. He was bleeding through the suit…bleeding fast.  
  
Otacon – who was on the floor, his body aching and his legs throbbing with pain – stood, slowly, and watched as the soldier who stood over the Ninja dropped his UMP 450, and pulled forth a Hammerli 280, raising it to his temple. Then, he spread his own brain across the floor, killing with himself the last soldier in the room. Now, the only opposition was Farrel, Formal, Desperado, and Ocelot, their strength no less present than before.  
  
Snake left Farrel no time to react, and pummeled right into him, running him into the cement, and sprawling him out on it. He looked up to see the pistol slide to a halt against the Ninja's side, and as he went for it, Farrel grabbed him, throwing him to the floor beside him. The two exchanged punches as Jack dodged Formal's quick slashes and returned with kicks of his own. There was much futility in their battle, for every time Formal was hit, the knives fell from around Mei Ling and Naomi, but instantly returned when he regained his balance, giving them no room for escape.  
  
Formal stumbled back from a blow to the chest, and looked up, Jack breathing heavily. "I'll kill you," Formal said, speaking from his own vocal cords. His voice was scratchy and hard to make sense of, but Jack got the message like it rang to him as clear as crystal.  
  
"Mimes don't talk," Jack mocked, still no smiling, but only wishing for it to end.  
  
"They also work at circuses," he replied, eerily, as he threw open his jacket, all of the knives returning to their positions in the chest of the suit. He looked up, blood trickling from his mouth, and turned swiftly, looking for a quick exit, but Jack stopped him as he was on his way out, Mei Ling and Naomi on their feet, and hurrying to the Ninja's side. He stopped him…with a bullet.  
  
Formal spun around, slowly this time, and woozily collapsed, his face washed of confusion. Jack turned away from him, no remorse and no concern, and hurriedly went to the Ninja who was many paces away.  
  
The battle between Farrel and Snake still raged, and they slowly made their way to the gun. Snake noted the others who seemed so far away…so far…out of reach…he continued grabbing at Farrel, pushing him away and skidding across the floor until a shadow appeared over them, and a white jacket blew in the air, a figure taking the gun in it's hand and without any further thought, pulling the trigger.  
  
The world seemed to stop…everything…all in that moment. The bullet pierced the air like the four that had brought the Ninja down. Snake and Farrel were both still moving, even after the shot, but one of them had felt the impact. One of them was dying whether he wanted to or not. That one was Farrel.  
  
"Ahh!" he screamed in pain, Snake sliding him off of his chest and moving out of the way – standing to really look at him. His face was pale, lifeless, the floor slowly being polluted with another disgusting pool of crimson blood…the life force that kept the human running…like his fuel…  
  
"No!" Naomi cried, falling beside her brother, her heart going out to him, everyone's heart going out to him. Otacon dropped the gun beside her, and stared at Snake who turned to him in remorse. 'Why?' Snake though, 'why did you make him do that? You made him shoot that gun…you could've handled it…'  
  
Jack moved over to them, and watched Otacon as he stepped closer to Snake. "I meant to do it," Otacon said, slowly. "I did it. It wasn't your fault." Snake looked at him, saddened by Otacon's immediate reply. Damn. Damn! He knew him better than he knew himself. He knew everything about him…how he reacted to every possible question, how he walked, how he spoke…everything.  
  
"Thank you," was the only thing Snake could think to say, and it startled Otacon more than pulling that trigger. All he expected was a lengthy apology that amounted to nothing a day later, but thank you…he had thanked him…  
  
"Naomi," a tiresome voice called from what seemed to be miles away. Everyone looked down at the Ninja, their bodies unable to hold their sorrow. Naomi clutched at Jack, her hands trying to squeeze life into him…no use. "Naomi…I love you…don't…cry…I have to…go now…it's where…I…belong… … … … … … … …sister." And then, he fell limp like after being released from the pain of Ocelot's device, which he may have very well been resisting the entire battle…Naomi continued to cry, her tears running down her brother's back, and slipping onto the floor. The moment was deafening. Not because it was loud…but because it was so quiet…so painfully quiet.  
  
"Naomi," Snake said, his words pulling her up from her brother's body, "come on. He doesn't want life. You have to accept his own decision." She couldn't control her crying, but the moment could last no longer, for with the cry of Metal Gear CELL, they were all pulled back to their world, leaving the Ninja alone…all alone.  
  
  
  
"Will you still march?" Ocelot's voice boomed through the room, the source: CELL. The company turned in newborn anger and their eyes stretched to the heavens, it seemed, drawn to the green-glowing eyes of Metal Gear CELL.  
  
"You're not going anywhere!" Snake shouted, and a full laugh came through the room, echoing for a fair length of time before Ocelot's scheming 'narration' returned.  
  
"Remember the incentive!" he cried. "Get in our way and you go 'boom!'" He laughed again, and CELL's right leg stretched out, crashing into the cement, and shaking the room, putting Snake off balance. Snake quickly turned to the others.  
  
"There must be some door to the surface," he began. "Something big, for Metal Gear to get out. If we want to stop them, we need to get to the surface. Fighting in here would be a waste of their own time."  
  
"We could take the tunnels we came from," Otacon suggested.  
  
"No," Jack interrupted. We'd never make it up there in time." There was another loud crash as the left leg met with the cement. "'We're off to see the wizard!'" Ocelot mocked. "'The wonderful wizard of Oz!' Don't stick around here too long. If we feel the need to eliminate any evidence it would be a bad place to be!"  
  
Then, something began to move, and a loud 'crank' noise began to fill the room as a long, narrow sliver of foreign light struck the floor, an onslaught of snow crashing down on the company. The roof of the room was parting…that was the door CELL would be taking. "Out of the way!" Snake cried, and the company started off running, the falling snow trailing close behind as the morning's first light played the role of it's 'guide.'  
  
Once they'd found cover beneath a two-leveled scaffold, and the snow had passed them up, they returned to the open space, their necks bent back as they looked up to CELL, its legs crumpling together, and then springing out, sending the mechanical body into the air and above the surface, moving forward in the air as to not fall back into the cavern-sized room. "Damn!" Snake called in frustration, searching for any possible route to the surface besides the tunnels. "Good day!" Ocelot's voice cried, finding its way to the company that stood in awe, below.  
  
"Look!" Otacon pointed to RAY on the ride side of the room. "You see? There is a ladder mounted beside RAY! If we can climb it, and then get onto RAY…see? RAY reaches up to those pipes," the company followed his finger, analyzing the journey t the surface, "If we can grab onto the pipes, we should be able to make our way to the surface. They lead right up to it," Otacon concluded, and Snake took a moment to find a response.  
  
"All right," he reassured them. "We're going up RAY. Come on!" The company quickly scurried across the open area, explosions erupting on the surface – Ocelot testing out the hardware – and started up the ladder, taking two bars at a time. The journey to that point was quick and painless, but when they reached the ladder's limits, and the point was which they needed to grab hold of RAY's body to their left, they slowed down.  
  
"Just stretch out your arm and grab onto it," Snake called, all ready a ways up RAY's hull. Naomi was behind him, and Mei Ling was on the ladder, still very afraid of the 'stretch' as Snake put it. She left her right foot on the ladder, and held out her left hand as far as she could, but her arm was too short. Snake sighed, "You'll…have to jump to it," he said. Mei Ling unexpectedly took a large gulp of air, nodding slightly, and then began to sway back and forth on the ladder.  
  
"One…Two…Three!" she cried, and she leaped to the left, her hands gripping onto a vain in RAY's structure, and her feet finding a small crevasse to latch on. She exhaled, a great weight lifted off her shoulders, and Otacon followed suit, along with Jack, making their way onto RAY and climbing behind Mei Ling in a ten-minute journey to the top where they quickly took hold of a series of pipes – luckily frozen and not heated to the extent of burning one's skin – and straddled them to the surface.  
  
Snake fell into the snow, rolling off of his back and onto his feet. Naomi was next to climb up, followed by Mei Ling, then Otacon, and lastly Jack. Snake was watching CELL not too far away. It was still within the plateau, and was firing a series of rockets and bullet's sending powdery snow into the air and creating a cloud of white crystal. Snake observed their situation, examining the plateau and the expanse of their capabilities. When he saw the Spire, he remembered Otacon being shot, and more specifically, the explosion of the helicopter. The missile that had demolished it had come from the Spire. "Otacon, go with Mei Ling and Naomi to the Spire. There should be a Stinger located somewhere in the building. You know how to fire one of those, right?" Otacon nodded. "All right. When you use it, hit CELL in one spot, continuously. Use the Lock-On interface and things will go a lot smoother. Okay?"  
  
"Yea," Otacon replied, somewhat unsure of himself. Mei Ling and Noami simply nodded, and then, without another word, they were on their way to the Spire. Quickly, Snake turned to Jack, an obvious sense of 'Get with it' on his face.  
  
"All right, you and me have to do what we can to stall Ocelot," Snake demanded. "We'll keep him busy until Otacon manages to blow a hole in the armor."  
  
"And then what?" Jack questioned.  
  
"We'll think of something," Snake answered. "You have any guns?" Jack nodded, pulling a Hammerli from his waist, and holding it out in disappointment.  
  
"That's all I've got," he said. Snake nodded, understanding.  
  
"Well," he paused, trying to come up with something more assertive, but could not. "It looks like we're just gonna have to chance it." Jack nodded, and they both took a moment to think, to pay their respects to those fallen in their path, and then, looking up at each other, they started off toward CELL, its back turned to them.  
  
Their legs pumped like pistons, furiously covering the distance in times they never thought they could. As they ran, or more suitably 'darted', Snake passed the helipad, spotting two Desert Eagles set in the snow beside the wreckage, a note left beside them, and a pile of magazines all which would come in handy soon. Snake gathered them up, reading from the piece of paper with a grin, and then continued on, catching up with Jack as they came up on Metal Gear CELL, it's enormous body towering over them, creating a shadow that stretched the radius of the snowfield. Slowly, every part of it moving, CELL pivoted, it's tail swaying back and forth, and its head lowering to get a closer look at the two Army men-like figures.  
  
Jack grabbed at his waist; his hand gripped tightly around one of four grenades he possessed. He waited for some sort of opportunity, or some reason to use it, but none arose in the time Ocelot was looking over them. It was probably better that he didn't attempt an offensive attack with the installed laser so close to him and Snake.  
  
"You are quite the acrobats," Ocelot's voice amplified across the field as the head of CELL withdrew, returning to its normal position, the body standing more upright now. "Do you wish to join us in our training exercise?" Snake turned to Jack calmly, and then the two nodded, shooting off in different directions. One to the left, the other to the right. The plan was simple, and it got done exactly what they needed to be done.  
  
For the next three minutes, Jack and Snake stayed as close to CELL's legs as possible, trying to move out of Ocelot's view, but they had more to worry about than the constantly-moving legs. In the shoulders of CELL were Random-Mark Machine Turrets, and even though they generally kept out of their view, bullets would sneak up behind them, and just barely miss, letting them breathe in the smell of the Hell Cell and cringe, pulling away from it and continuing on their figure 8-like pattern.  
  
Then, from somewhere beyond the field of commotion, a hiss sounded, and a projectile, sent from the direction of the not-too-distant Spire, streaked through the air, cutting into it like a hot knife through butter. Then, as CELL turned to it, the missile impacted, sending a wave of flames over the chest of CELL. Jack and Snake stepped back far enough to witness the attack, but remained hidden from the turrets. The chest of CELL was torn open, machinery hanging from the wound, but right there, exposed to the world was a screen of green, glowing energy, it's light pulsating quicker and quicker as the absent machinery grew over it, rebuilding itself in seconds. It was not until it had been healed, that another missile escaped the Spire, and impacted the same spot, sending the same damaging blow, and followed with the same quick glow, ending in a dying cloud of smoke, and a shining chest of armor.  
  
"Ha!" Ocelot mocked them. "You cannot heal a wound without knowing the proper tools. It is the same with inflicting a wound. Now, it is or turn," he said, and CELL braced itself, setting its legs deep into the snow before jolting back a few feet every second as rockets shot out from its back, twisting into the air and then falling level with the third level of the Spire and shooting in its direction.  
  
Then, from the Spire was another shot, the missile hitting one of the incoming rockets dead on, and setting them all off as they fell into the fire, colliding with debris. Snake could only imagine the look of triumph on Otacon's face, and he smiled. Then, before CELL had braced for another offensive, two shots were fired, and from the Spire came two missiles, their aim identical.  
  
They impacted, sending a jolt through the ground. CELL fell back, slightly, and Snake watched the smoke clear, hoping to see the green glow fading away, and while it was flickering weakly, it grew in brightness, and before Otacon had fired again, it was healed.  
  
The next attack from the Spire was three shots, one after the other, sparing only one second in between. CELL's Random-Mark Turrets engaged this time, plowing one of the three missiles with a hail of bullets. The other two made their mark, exploding not in the chest, but in the face. CELL fell back, barely catching itself as it stumbled, and then stood triumphantly again. The wound healed, and it was as if the battle had only just begun, again.  
  
"Wait for them to shoot again!" Snake called, continuing his route beneath CELL. "When the wound is open, fire away!" Jack nodded as the two passed by each other, and a giant mechanical leg smashed down behind them. CELL turned its body, slightly, as to get a better look, and then it hinged its legs and catapulted into the air again.  
  
Snake twisted around, watching it go, feeling the stress in the ground released with CELL's jump. It had reached the top of its arc, and drifted in that one spot for a few moments before three loud hisses emerged from it's back, and a trio of rockets went into the air, twisting downward. Two went for Snake, and one went for Jack.  
  
As CELL descended, gravity finally taking its course, Snake turned and moments before the rockets were upon him, jumped off to the right. He stared at them for a moment, their hull's shining with an eerie red, and then dashed off. The speed of his reaction was one that the rockets could not imitate, and as he pounced forward, they detonated behind him, sending a wave of heat over his body, and melting a giant area of snow in the process. Snake turned onto his back and watched, Jack doing the same thing as he, seeing CELL crash into the ground, its haunches digging deep.  
  
"You would have been good in track," Ocelot suggested, his voice booming, and CELL's head jutted forward, its mouth opening wide, letting a cry of frustration escape it along with a blue mist that hovered around it. Snake recognized that color, and as the mouth stayed wide open, he recognized the sound and the slight quiver to Metal Gear's body.  
  
"He's using the laser!" he heard a voice shout in his ear. It was Otacon. The Codec. Snake nodded, forgetting all about it, and jumped onto his feet, seeing Jack do the same, which was an indication that Otacon was speaking to both of them.  
  
"Otacon!" Snake cried, his legs ready and anticipating the moment when they would need to work, when they would need to steer him away from the oncoming attack. "Try and hit it in the face!" He did not see, but instead sensed Otacon's nod and waited. There was silence, one that had been unprecedented in the past minutes of chaos. Then, CELL's body jerked back, and a blue stream of energy…Hell's energy…emerged from the gray depths of Metal Gear's throat.  
  
There was a sly chuckle – Ocelot's – in the background as the blue line cut into the land behind Snake, it's death biting at his heels. CELL moved quickly, but Snake moved quicker. It was a simple concept. Snake was smaller, so he could manipulate his body with better sensitivity, while it took CELL, which was many times larger, more time to manipulate its body, and the flexibility of it's arms, legs, and head was nowhere near as extended as Snake's own flexibility. Ocelot didn't think he could stop Snake with the laser, and it was obvious…he didn't want to.  
  
But, in the distance was the sound of a helicopter. No…two, or rather three helicopters. Their familiar song came nearer and nearer, and CELL did not stop for them to arrive. Instead, it braced itself again, ending the tiring and energy-eating laser, and sent a wave of rockets into the air, their trail a thick blue smoke, tainted with a slight dab of red.  
  
They flew through the air, magnificently, and when light struck them, three colors formed. Red, white, and blue. Something of a patriotic fluke, one could say, but that did not make them any more friendly. In no more than four seconds, they had hit the Spire. Snake's heart stopped, and the glass walls of the Spire shattered, every last one of them. It took a moment for the screech of glass to pass by Snake's ears, but when it did, he felt uncontrollable, without meaning. 'Don't let him die,' he thought. 'DON'T let him die!' "Otacon!" he screamed into the Codec…there was no reply.  
  
But, streaming from the Spire, having been fired just before it fell into flames, was another missile, the last sign of hope. It was the meaning of People's Will. The will against the nation…the nation, which is not free, but the nation that is played. The television show, or the Broadway musical, or the orchestra…it wasn't a nation, but instead…a puppet in and of itself.  
  
The missile struck CELL's chest, sending flames up and down it, their ends curling to make odd shapes. Jack quickly turned to Snake, tossed him a grenade, and both of them understood. As the green light pulsated, trying to rebuild Metal Gear's body, the grenades flew through the air, ignited in the light, and a great pulse of energy busted out of the wound, a 'true' explosion breaking into the Chest Que, and setting off a horde of ammunition, fuel, and rockets. In one quick 'bang' the fire broke through the wound, taking a little more of the machinery with it, but seeing as the shell was so powerful, not even the internal destruction could penetrate it. Only a few spouts in its back were created, flames spewing into the air.  
  
And then, it fell forward, its 'knees' resting in the snow, and its body arching into the air, setting the cockpit feet above the surface. There was a low hiss as exhaust valves were switched on and off, distributing the gasses throughout the body of CELL, fueling a raging fire that burned in it's heart. Then, the panel to the cockpit slid aside, and a gloved hand gripped the edge of the panel, lifting himself out of the cockpit. He stood, one foot in the cockpit, the other out, and one hand braced against the panel to keep his balance.  
  
"You found her weakness," he grinned…Ocelot. Snake looked at him in disgust, and then, as he hopped down to the surface, his boots crushing the snow beneath him, Desperado's only able hand stretched out of the cockpit and pulled his body forward, ducking his head as not to hit the roof of the panel. He didn't look as happy or amused as Ocelot, and slowly made his way down the side of CELL's face. "Don't mind them," he said, his hand gesturing toward the choppers that began to hover over in a circular formation, SEALS printed on their hulls in bold, black lettering. "They are merely another section of the audience." He smiled, his fingers playing a song on his holsters.  
  
"Snake!" Otacon's voice echoed in his ear like a deafening, but well- welcomed alarm. He stood there, frozen for a moment, but did not answer. "Snake?! Snake, are you okay?! Snake!" Ocelot grinned, Snake's head tilting forward, his eyes focusing on the pure, whiteness of the snow before him. So beautiful…and so irrelevant. His environment was so out of touch with reality, it seemed. No matter the situation, nature lived on, like it was another world, one apart from is own. It was sad, almost…seeing happiness…feeling happiness…but not experiencing happiness…  
  
"En guard!" Ocelot cried, and the only sound to be heard was the subtle crackling fire that burnt behind them, and the twirl of guns as Ocelot drew his dual revolvers, Desperado pulled his SOCOM, Snake pulled his Desert Eagles, and Jack pulled his Hammerli 280. In a movement they all executed in unison, the four jumped to their left, falling into sideways summersaults as they fired away, their bullets hitting the cold air, and passing in silence, for another loud crack to take their place.  
  
After their initial dash, the four broke into two couples. Snake went with Ocelot, and Jack went with Desperado. Breaking away, and moving into areas of their own, the Dual Duel had begun, their guns ablaze.  
  
Snake and Jack dodged this way and that, firing nowhere near as many shots as Desperado and Ocelot who were took the cake for 'fastest.' Snake and Ocelot had somehow moved onto CELL, the fire that melted through its back burning near. It had collapsed to a certain extent, the arch in its back less severe, and its body more sprawled, making their stunts easier to perform, seeing as the slope was much easier to conquer.  
  
Jack and Desperado were still in the snow, each of them armed with one gun as opposed to two. Jack was not ready for the bout, not ready at all, but Desperado was a more than fair opponent. Whenever Jack had run his magazine out, Desperado stopped, his gun at his side, and waited for Jack to reload his Hammerli. He always took cover when doing say, believing that if he were to do it in the open, Desperado would surely shoot him down, but that wasn't true. Desperado was a fierce fighter, but a fair fighter.  
  
They fought long and hard, dodging to the right, and to the left, but then, as Ocelot jumped off of CELL, dropping into the snow as all of Snake's ammunition had been expended, a loud shot rang out, and everyone turned to its origin. Snake stepped to the neck of CELL, and looked over the edge, seeing in the snow, at the base of CELL…Jack – his last bullet fired. Across from him, no more than five meters away from Ocelot was Desperado, his gun in the snow, and his hand over his stomach. He fell to his knees, coughing and choking, his arm held high for his friend.  
  
"Ocelot…" he cried, his voice a mere whisper. Ocelot turned to him, somewhat surprised, and stepped over, a grin spreading across his face.  
  
"I didn't mean for that Ninja to take your arm…" he said, and Desperado's face went cold. He couldn't believe it. He was a target too…nothing more than a demonstration of power…how cruel.  
  
"You…lying cheat!" Desperado cried, choking and drowning in his own blood.  
  
"It's like they say, old friend…your time is up…it was up long ago…a 'dead man walking.'" Ocelot huffed, and then fired again, his friend grabbing at the snow in his last attempt to survive. He turned back to Snake who wanted more than anything to kill him, and showed a face, no sign of remorse.  
  
There was a growing patter in the distance, and in Snake's fury he looked over his shoulder, recognizing Otaon and Mei Ling and Naomi who quickly joined him and Jack, standing behind them. "You missed the tragic death scene!" Ocelot cried. "Every good movie has one," he said, gesturing to the body that lay before them all…Desperado…cold. "But, we must move on, my friends, to much more important things. You have yet to witness the final act.  
  
"After you faced off with your brother, in my body," Ocelot began, directing the speech to Snake, "I got away with RAY, and you got away with your life. You see, the Patriots gave me a location, a location where I could meet them, find them. I went there, I traced everything I could. I hid RAY here, and went directly to Manhattan. Did you ever notice that old, abandoned warehouse on the south harbor? It overlooks the ocean. The windows – purple, and red… every color you could imagine.  
  
"That was where I went. They gave me that location, and I went there. Yes…how long ago that seems. You see, there was barely anything there. I searched the building for hours, but all that I saw was a computer. In the middle of the main room was a computer. A computer! Can you realize how infuriated I was? How angry I was? I felt betrayed…denied by my own employers, but…no, that was not it at all. In fact, I could not have been further from the truth.  
  
"So, I sat down at that computer…and I read what was on it's screen, what appeared on it's screen as I read it. I saw thousands of posts…thousands of requests, or…'demands' you could call them. But what I found particularly interesting was the name that sat beside every 'demand.' Do you know? Can you tell me whose name that was?" He waited, but they looked at him indignantly, and so he continued.  
  
"Mine," he said, stopping as if he had released the greatest revelation of all. "My name…I had given those orders. I read most of them, all of them in fact, and I found myself recalling all the instances I spoke with those cloudy voices on the phone, always digitized…I remembered all the requests I made, all the things I said, and I saw them all played back to me right on that computer. You see…that, my friends, is the Compilation.  
  
"That is where my demands…MY demands…were compiled, formed into a single 'constitution' you could say. As soon as I issued those requests, they were compiled there, they were sent out across the world to whoever needed to hear them, and when I witnessed it all…I was making the demands. I was speaking to a computer when I thought I was speaking to my 'Boss.' I was my boss. I am my boss. You see…I am the Patriots…THE PATRIOT!" Snake was too stunned, too surprised to fall backward or respond in any way. It didn't make sense. "I rule the world! I am the President of it all! Everything! The world is my stage, and you are my actors…  
  
"Socrates thought we mutually sought power, he thought that my cravings blinded me…but I all ready had it. It was his own craving that blinded HIM. He was another pawn, another useless ornament…another instrument in the song. I wanted CELL, not to HAVE power, but to DEMONSTRATE that power. I don't want to be the invisible figure, the leader that no one can see, or touch, or hear. I am the leader of the world…I control everything, but you see…I don't want that. I want to be known! I want to be a legend…but all of this was destroyed once again.  
  
"It would seem easy enough to simply march into Washington D.C. proclaim my power, and take over, but no one would believe but the politicians, the people who knew of me, but dared not to speak of me. I was a 'thing' an invisible 'thing!' but it was the Compilation that showed me the truth. And now, it has shown you the truth…" His grin soon returned, disguising the insane, lost gaze that he possessed while lecturing. And he paused for a moment, pacing back and forth, not speaking a word. Then, he turned to them.  
  
"The computer…the Compilation…me…they are all one in the same. They are power. All symbols of power. In the background was the symphony of a savior as the SEALS choppers began to come lower, ropes falling from their open hulls, and soldiers standing at the doors dressed in white and gray camouflage that suited the occasion nicely.  
  
They nodded to each other, waving and making gestures as they moved onto the ropes, falling over CELL, and sliding down its spine, forming a line behind Snake, and forcing him to the snow. They made signals as they descended and moved over the body, taking several posts while others led the way, building a circle around Ocelot, broken only by Snake and the company.  
  
Ocelot examined them, as they did in return, and then, after a moment of tension, they seemed to take a few steps away, reforming their circle, but this time pointing their guns at the company. Snake took a faulty step backward only to hear the reproaching orders of the SEALS that surrounded them. "Don't move!" they cried.  
  
"It sure is an advantage, being the President of the World. You can do things like this…you can call your own team of Navy SEALS! It looks like this time, you come away empty handed, my friends." Ocelot turned away. "You have to understand, my friends. I control everything." Ocelot looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the company once more before waving to the SEALS, and heading for the choppers that hovered inches above Metal Gear's body, causing the soldiers to disperse as if the company had suddenly vanished.  
  
The company could barely move, but they didn't know if it was the cold that did it or the cruel surprise that Otacon had delivered without even a second glance at his old friend, Desperado. He hiked up to where CELL lay, and smiled, three choppers hovering inches off the ground, their doors open and inviting. Then, a nasty, uncompassionate look on his face, he hopped onto the chopper, one foot on it's leg, another on CELL, and his arm holding a silver bar tightly, holding him steady, and called. "Good day!"  
  
"Why don't you kill us?!" Snake called, his strength suddenly returning to him. Ocelot smiled in delight, but waited a moment…running the answer over in his head.  
  
"What good is power if you have no one to enforce it on?" he called in return, fitting his revolver into its holster and patting it lightly. "It's a game!" he cried. "Like a game of chess, my friends! This one just happened to turn out a stalemate!" He grinned, and slid into the chopper, soldiers bustling into the helicopter behind him.  
  
There was another moment of silence, besides the repetitious song of the helicopter, their propellers beating annoyingly in the wind. The flames that burned in CELL's heart quickly reached up again, attempting to pull the helicopters down with them as they hovered into the air, but nothing could stop them. Not then. It was just another stalemate.  
  
"It's over," Otacon said, but not in a happy tone, like the pain and suffering had all ended, but in a terrible croak of obscurity. There, they stood, their bodies huddled close together as the morning's first true light struck the plateau, illuminating it with a beautiful sparkling shimmer. The helicopters were like hazy silhouettes hovering above the horizon and as they faded into the growing clouds, Snake turned to Otacon. They had been through hell, but at that moment, things felt like they had concluded. It was the end of a bad day, and the beginning of a new one...one that together, they would make brighter.  
  
"No," Snake thought out loud. "For today, maybe…but Ocelot won't go far." Then, his eyes wandered to Desperado who lay in the snow not far from them. He turned away from the company and knelt at the man's side, resting his hand on his heart as he pulled the slip of paper he had found near the Desert Eagles from his pocket and unfolded it. "Heh," he grunted, "maybe you did see Ocelot for who he was…sorry it had to end this way. Good day…and good night," Snake said, flattening the paper on Desperado's chest and turning his head up to the sky as the others huddled around him.  
  
It was then that the morning's first true light shone over the plateau, setting it aflame with a glowing, shimmering reflection.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The Compilation  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I put this so far down because I feel the NA can ruin the ending of a story. Read at your own risk.  
  
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: First of all, I had originally posted this chapter, but I was somewhat upset with it. I hurried to put it online and sat in bed for nearly an hour trying to figure out what was so odd about it, and what made it a disappointment to me, so as soon as I got home from school I came up here and fixed it up for…let's say two hours. With that in mind, I hope you enjoyed this story, as I did. I am sad to leave it, but not as sad as I had thought I would be. It came a long way, and I am proud of it. I have to thank everyone for being so nice to me in my steady progression (White Hornet Andy, The Combobulator, SSFury…), and one person in particular: Otaku Tess for being the best reviewer and online friend I've ever had. I'd like to keep in touch with everyone here at FF.net so if you wanna talk to me, IM me at Espresso d Gecko or email me at z_dial@hotmail.com . Thank you all so much for your support. Good day, and happy writing!  
  
P.S.  
  
Hmmm…what had Desperado written on that little slip of paper…??  
  
We'll see if I decide to return with another attempt at a fic in the future. Just…let that jog your imagination until then ;D 


	30. Go Code

Chapter Thirty: Go Code  
  
  
  
The coffee house was not bustling with its normal activity, but as the morning sun struck Manhattan, setting light to the shimmering skyscrapers and the desolate 'dead cells' that died in their shadows, becoming like Swiss cheese – their windows all shattered – customers entered and exited the coffee house, grabbing their cold mochas and their espressos as they hurried off to work. A Monday…those were terrible.  
  
In the shadow of the World Trade Center buildings, which remained in reconstruction, the coffee house sat subtle and quiet, a customer moving to a small table in the center of the room, a laptop sitting on it's counter. Computer and coffee had become an unbelievably popular phenomenon throughout the United States and much of England, and only the popular chains like Starbucks and Panera Bread held up, for they were of the few corporations with the money needed for such an unnatural supply of computers.  
  
"Good morning!" and enthusiastic woman cried from behind the main service counter, to the customer as he passively gestured back with a subtle wave, and then took his seat. There was a backpack slung over his shoulder, it's stitching an odd red on a leather body. He glanced around for a moment, surveying the room, and then set the backpack at his feet as he looked up to the dim-screened laptop, his hands reaching for the keyboard, hungrily.  
  
"Good morning, sir," a waitress greeted him – order tablet in hand. He turned his head, noticing first, the torturing length of her jean shorts that were cut rigidly inches below her waistline, exposing the top strings of her bright green underwear. His eyes slowly lifted past her noticeably pierced belly button and her tank top that was cut, hanging just slightly over her breast. Her hair was wavy, falling to her shoulders in a glimmering blond bangle, and he grinned slightly, his eyes focused on her chest.  
  
"Why, good morning," he finally replied in a wide smile.  
  
"What would you like this morning? Or do you need a few moments?" He pondered this, and even though he knew exactly what he wanted, he nodded his head only slightly, smiling still. "Could you give me just a minute?" he asked, and she smiled in return, nodded her head, and then turned swiftly to the service counter, her walk a tantalizingly seductive dance. He peered after her, a longing in his heart and between his legs, but he shrugged it off for a moment, a slight smirk still imprinted on his face as he turned back to the laptop.  
  
He was young, the customer, and appeared no older than 25. His hair was fairly long, cut not too far down the neck, and just shaggy enough – but not too shaggy – to attract a great deal of women. His skin was tanned, accenting his brown (blond tipped) hair with a certain wild sensation. His hands were smooth, his arms firmly built, and his taste in clothes: very nice. He wore a short-sleeved shirt, its colors faded, that cut up halfway up the kink in his arm, showing off his muscle, and his pants were khakis – not too dressy, but not too crowded with those giant pockets. As he turned back to the laptop, what he didn't know was that the waitress's eyes were staring at him, just as his had stared at her.  
  
He worked his way through a few windows, using the touch-pad mouse – which he seemed a master of – to move through them, until he turned to his pack and began to unzip the smallest compartment: a pouch that was accessible on the front of the pack. Scavenging through it with his right hand, he pulled forth a thin CD case, concealing it in his lap as the waitress returned to take his order. "Ready?" she asked, and he turned, examining her great body again before answering with a slick tone.  
  
"Yea," he replied. "Could I have a Grande Mocha and a…hmm…Turkey Breast on sourdough?" He seemed to pronounce 'breast' with emphasis, and the waitress seemed too taken with his looks to write the order down, only nodding once before going off again, adding an extra bounce to her step…just for him. He grinned, noticing the extra bounce, and then returned to his computer, slipping the CD case from his lap and opening it on the table.  
  
Over the CD sat a slip of paper, folded once. He pulled it forward, reading it to himself as he moved through a few more windows before a notice popped onto the screen. It read:  
  
"C: Drive is locked to customers. If you are staff, enter the Lock Code to Unlock the CD-ROM"  
  
The man smiled a quick smile, and looked at the paper once more, entering the numbers on it, into the computer with his free hand. When he had concluded, he slid his fingers over the touch-pad and pressed down, lightly, as the cursor hovered over "OK."  
  
Suddenly, there was a lurching in the depth of the computer as it thought out loud, its voice implying that his request had been accepted and was slowly being processed. He waited impatiently, his hands tapping his thighs, playing a soft rhythm to himself. Quickly, that tune ceased. 'You gotta stay quiet,' he thought. 'Fit in, and it'll all go as planned.'  
  
Then, he heard growing footsteps behind him…they stopped, hovering over him like death. Slowly, he turned, seeing the waitress behind him, a tray held in the palm of her hand. On it sat a mug and saucer, along with a plate decorated with a colorful sandwich, lettuce and tomatoes slipping out on either side of the bread. The man looked up at her and set his index finger steadily over his lips, and hissed, "Shh."  
  
He held out his hand, stroking her leg lightly, and se quickly retreated a step, her nerves shattered. "Thank you," the man said, trying to make the scene a little less awkward, and at his smile, she could do nothing but smile, setting the tray on the counter and unloading his order beside the laptop. She quickly straightened, her eyes playing with his heart before she turned and hurried off to the service counter. 'She wont talk,' he thought, and he quickly returned to his laptop, cuddling his Mocha in his hands, taking a sip, setting it back on the saucer, and plucking the CD from its case as the CD-ROM slid out, revealing a single CD: the one responsible for running the Drive Lock software that had previously sat in his way.  
  
He removed the Drive Lock CD, and inserted his own, lightly pushing on the side of the platform, watching it hurry back into the laptop. Then, it thought, and he took that moment to return his CD case to his pack and take a few bites of his sandwich, along with a few gulps of his Grande Mocha before it promptly loaded, a new window appearing on the screen. The window was one narrow line of text, and a simple "OK" button sat at its right. Quickly, the man slid the cursor to the "OK" and pressed lightly, windows popping up in the background seamlessly loading files into the computer as he worked.  
  
There was a moment of subtleness. The man ate his sandwich, the waitress gazed at him, and the computer loaded…slowly. The sounds of cars zooming past on the street easily visible from the glass wall of the coffee house were commonplace in Manhattan. Everywhere anyone went, there was noise. Whether it was oddly peaceful in the center of a flourishing, colorful park – trees placed randomly through the expanse of grass – or in the very center of a junkyard, cars falling around you as workers yelled wild obscenities to enhance the 'brute work' feel. However one looked at it…there was noise everywhere.  
  
"Software Loaded," a mall window appeared, clarifying the success of his action. He looked at it, pleased, and set down his sandwich, moving his chair closer to the table as he put his hands to the keyboard. He clicked that window off the screen, and another appeared, "Open Program 'Go Code'?". There was a small gray button beneath the message, and as he moved the cursor to it the waiter's beautiful, sexy voice returned, echoing in his ear, and turning him away from the computer in an instant.  
  
"Is everything good?" She asked, an uneasy but returning seductive gaze in her eyes. The man pondered his answer, and while it was an obvious 'Yes' he didn't think that would get him any closer to this magnificent woman. 'What to say…' he pondered, 'what to say…'  
  
"You are gorgeous," he blurted, coolly. She smiled at his reply, twiddling her pen in her fingers, and shifting her wait to her left leg, and slipping her thumb into the top of her jeans, sliding them down an inch to reveal more of her skin and those bright green underwear.  
  
"I kinda meant your order," she returned.  
  
"That doesn't change my answer," he said. "You wanna," he began, looking around the room again to reassure himself of the numbers, "go into the bathroom?" She looked around too, analyzing the slim population of the coffee house, and then looked back, nodding… 'Damn!' he thought. 'Even her nod was sexy!' The man smiled and then lifted his index finger once more, signaling a need for just another moment to himself. "Let me take care of this real quick, and then we can have a little fun," he said, and she smiled, quickly turning to the service counter, and strutted back, her step still bouncy. She was willing to give him his minute, but when they were in the bathroom, he was all hers.  
  
Returning to his laptop, he analyzed the notice. "Open Program 'Go Code'?" it said. 'Hmm…' he pondered momentarily, slowly moving the cursor toward the "OK" button beneath the message. Click!  
  
Suddenly, a chat room window popped up on the screen, and the man watched as another user signed in, going by the screen name: XcolonelX. The man smiled, slightly, and began to type to the other user.  
  
"Is everyone in place?" he typed, and waited for the other user to reply.  
  
"Yes sir. Police have been notified of the 'biological scare'…when our men move, all of Manhattan will be quarantined." The user returned.  
  
"Good. Are the choppers on their way?"  
  
"Yea, but…sir, what is this for?" There was a silence as the man at the laptop contemplated his answer.  
  
"Colonel, you are in charge of military affairs. You do your part, I'll do mine."  
  
"That's not good enough, sir."  
  
"Of course it is."  
  
"You order the Go Code without telling me, and this mission goes nowhere."  
  
Silence. "We know where the Patriot is hiding. We're going to lock him inside, too."  
  
"And you don't think he has a counter-offensive ready for you?"  
  
"That's exactly it, Colonel. Once he acts, we'll follow. And then we'll find exactly what we want," the man typed. "Colonel, I am sending the Go Code now. Keep me updated." He turned to the woman at the service counter and smiled. "I have some business of my own."  
  
"Yes sir. Thank you."  
  
"No, no…thank you." The man scrolled over to the bottom of the chat window and found a small button entitled 'Go Code'. His cursor sat there for a moment, and the other user signed off. "Be ready for a bam, Manhattan…" he whispered, and lightly pushed upon the touch-pad.  
  
"'Go Code' initiated."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This chapter is an…epilogue. Or you could say…prologue. Look out, because a sequel is coming your way. (Sorry Otaku, I couldn't hold myself back () Please R&R. I know you don't know much, but tell me if you like what you do know. Thanks. 


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